


DUNGEONS AND DUMBASSES

by GryphSanity



Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Reality hopping, Explanation given for character resurrection/death, Fluff, Humor, Implied Style, M/M, Medieval, Multi, Short Chapters, Stendyl, Trans Butters, Trans Wendy, dip - Freeform, south park - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-23
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-03-19 07:50:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 42
Words: 53,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3602127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GryphSanity/pseuds/GryphSanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cartman's dead, Pip is buff, Stan's nervous about talking about Wendy, what else could happen? Hopefully nothing related to interdimensional wormholes opening up under-Oh, yep. There they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Expositioning

A cold chill blew through the mountain town, causing it to freeze even faster in its winter months. Such a chill would go through even the sturdiest of tourists, forcing them to retreat into one of the heated shops on the side of the road. But of course this was nothing new to the people who lived here, it was just a slightly colder day than usual. Be it adaptation or ignorance (probably both), they remained unfazed in their day-to-day activities. One of them seemed unnaturally unfazed by the weather as he walked down the sidewalk.

The young blond man whistled as he walked down the street. Even though the townspeople were used to the cold, the cold didn’t stop them from being moody towards their neighbors. Most were inherently negative on a day-to-day basis, so seeing one of them with such a spring in their step may have been surprising. The young man stopped to take the possible hazard out of his shoe, and entered one of the local bars hoping for a cup of tea.

First and foremost, it’s best to note that this young man wasn’t actually a member of the town, more a veteran of some sort. A certain event years ago in the town forced him to move far away. VERY far away actually, and the fact that he even managed to come back for a trip down memory lane is amazing in of itself. He was a little disappointed to find that his parents weren’t there where he went, but he could, uh, live with it. At least he knew what name they left him with.

He was named Phillip, but everyone hated him, so they called him Pip.

The blond studied the inside of the bar and confirmed that it had aged much like the rest of South Park, not a lot. Some people got bigger and some people got grayer, not much else was different. Pip didn’t even notice any new buildings to explore. He noticed one man sitting to himself, wearing a blue beanie hat with a red rim and puffball. He may have been gone for a while but Pip could recognize that hat anywhere. A little strange for him to wear that kind of hat for so long, but the brit figured if he could wear practically the same clothes for over 15 years, that man could. He noticed a toolbox at the bottom of the chair.

“Ello Stanley! It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?”

“Hmm?” Stan turned to face Pip with a bottle in his mouth. He quickly spit it out though. “O-oh god, Pip!? Uh, hey man, uh-I-”

“Is there something wrong, Stanley?” Pip tilted his head curiously at the fearful acquaintance from his childhood. He didn’t seem to understand why Stan was so nervous. “It’s oh so nice to see an old friend, you know.”

“You mean you’re not here to-oh, um, sorry.” Stan looked at Pip, looking relieved that his intentions weren’t what he thought they were. He nervously took a sip of his drink.

“Here to what?” Pip was a little taken aback by Stan’s reactions, but mostly wondered what caused them. Pip didn’t think anything was too different about him. Of course this is what Pip thought, and what he thought didn’t fully match what actually had happened.

Due to no living family members, at a young age Pip made his home at the local orphanage of South Park. However, due to it being South Park, the living standards there were, for a lack of a better term, shit. Neglect, Malnourishment, and other problems caused the orphan to be a small, easy to pick on child for the students at South Park elementary. This was somewhat directly contrasting Pip as of now. He definitely wasn’t small anymore, standing at 6”4’ made him taller than most of the boys that picked on him when he was younger. He wasn’t skinny, in fact some would describe him as “tough.” Noticeably so, as one could see it through the stereotypical British clothes.

“Sorry, the last time I got reacquainted with an old "friend" who got that buff, they tried to beat me and my friends up.” Stan wiped his brow. Standing at 5"8' made Stan noticeably shorter than Pip.

“Oh, terribly sorry to hear about that Stan. I shouldn't bother you any more.” Pip gave a quick wave and began to turn towards the exit of the bar, figuring that it was just best that he left.

“Uh, wait a minute, Pip” Stan motioned for Pip to sit down next to him. Pip followed hesitantly, few people really ever wanted his presence. Stan turned back to the bar. Stan was silent as he seemed to try to collect his thoughts. Pip ordered a glass of water. Fresh out of tea, a shame. “I’ve never had the chance to ask this to someone, but… do you remember dying?”

“Oh! Well, somewhat. It’s been a while. I remember it being a tad unpleasant though. It was oh so nice to be allowed to come back.” Pip grabbed the slightly dirty glass of water and took a sip.

"A tad, huh?" Stan rubbed his chin as he thought about what happened years ago.

Eric Cartman. That asshole. Stan's childhood... "friend" was always getting into trouble, but of course he always left people worse off than he was in the end. Stan remembered that as the years passed, Eric kept pushing his luck more and more. The amount of people’s lives he ruined were probably uncountable. Somehow he kept getting into worldwide acts of terror and mayhem through his own selfishness. Amazing for someone practically only a decade old. Cartman eventually managed to piss every figure of religion imaginable. God, Satan, Jesus, Buddha, Muhammad (The boxer, the prophet canceled at the last minute), and, of course, the Spaghetti Monster. That escapade finally got him killed off. Thank God. Literally. He came down and kicked his ass. To add insult to injury, God resurrected all the people in heaven directly linked to Cartman’s disastrous escapades.

Stan eyed Pip. He was noticeably bulky. “So, you became a bodybuilder or something?”

“Oh no, when I came back, uh, the second time, that is. Everyone resurrected came down the stairway to heaven and I accidently got knocked off by the crowd and-uh, anyway. There was this Jewish man Cartman killed who used to be a dodgeball coach who recognized me. He was amazed by how I singlehandedly took down the junior Chinese league when we were in grade school. When he got his job back he signed me up for the professional league. I’ve been told I’m jolly good at the sport.” Pip took the last sip of the water he was drinking, while ignoring the blatant health code violations in just one cup.

“That’s good to hear, I guess. So you haven’t been here in a while, right?” Stan downed a chug of his drink.

“Ah, no, it really is funny to see the town again after all that’s happened. I haven’t really noticed anything too different so far, though.”

“Yeah, I could imagine. You’d have to be here when the changes happened to really notice them." Stan nodded his head, turning to face the front door. "…Would you like me to show to you around? For old times sake?”

Pip’s eyes widened a little in surprise. “Really? That would be awfully nice of you Stanley, you’re okay with that?”

“Don’t worry dude, I’m not doing anything today." Stan shrugged. "I don’t see a problem with it. Just let me finish my drink and I can tell you what’s happened while you were gone.”

Pip smiled. “Right-O”


	2. I Already Ran Out of Clever Chapter Names

“And there’s Tweek Bros." Stan pointed to the coffee shop. "Tweek Tweek’s the boss of it now. When he got older his parents basically dropped the entire business on him. I mean they kind of had to, after all the illegal substances the police found in those drinks. But still, to drop it all on nervous Tweek like that, Jesus Christ. I don’t think he slept for days." Stan shook his head. "Craig and a bunch of the other guys convinced him to start hiring other employees though. You know how Tweek is around Craig, heh, no wonder they're together.”

“Oh! Uh...I..suppose so?" Pip wasn't aware of most relationships between the kids in South Park even before he kicked the bucket. Except maybe one of course, but Pip was always too distanced to really know the other kids. Pip shook his head, thinking about Tweek again. "Did he get over his nasty addiction to coffee?”

“Nah. Well, I mean..." Stan tilted his head and crossed his arms. "...Kind of. He’s still addicted, but he’s not as panicky. He stopped twitching a while ago.”

“That’s good to hear.” Pip muttered to himself. Stan was right, there had been a lot that had changed in the quiet mountain town. The biggest change probably being the quiet part. Stan made it clear that after Cartman’s death, things never got as disastrous as Cartman’s worst offenses. Of course the general town-wide shenanigans and stupidity were still there, but rarely did it ever result in genocide-like situations. Rarely. With Cartman gone everyone became a little more relaxed, more mellow. Except Kyle. With no one to blatantly morally wrong person to argue with Kyle became REALLY happy for some reason.

“What have you been up to lately, Stanley?” Pip looked at the toolbox Stan was carrying. “Is it to do with that in your hand?”

“Oh yeah, one day Butters’ parents asked me to fix their roof, suddenly everyone decides I’m the town’s go-to-guy for fixing their house.” Stan shook the toolbox so Pip could hear all the metal tools noisily bump against each other. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by how well it pays, people here are so careless I’m surprised all these houses are still standing.”

Pip chuckled. “I suppose you wouldn’t need that much money anyway. Your dad’s singing career is still going quite strong, isn’t it?” Pip turned to face Stan, but his eyebrows raised and eyes widened when he saw the shock on Stan’s face. That was supposed to be a secret? Pip blinked. The sudden realization that everyone was not in the joke of a man in a dress and wig and not a woman on stage suddenly hit him. “Oh! Um, I mean, say, how’s Wendy been lately?” Pip cringed when he saw Stan’s expression get worse.

Stan’s expression became blank as the emotion seemed to drain from it. His eyes become a little glossy as he looked down and away from Pip. “Uh… Pip. I don’t want to talk about that. ...Okay?”

Oh dear, this wasn’t going well. “So sorry about that Stan." Pip bit his lip. "Now why don’t we go see Kenny at his mansion?” Pip was glad to hear that Kenny the poor boy got out of poverty and into the land of the wealthy, but was a little disturbed that he did it on nothing but pornographic imagery. Kenny’s magazine was so explicit that even true pure catholic priests (All two of them) bought it to see what insanity came in it. “I’m positive we can go through this alley as a shortcut.”

Stan shrugged sadly and they both made their way through the alleyway. Stan stopped at Pip suddenly froze in the middle of the alley. "Uh, what's wrong dude?" Stan blinked. He leaned a little forward, peering down the alley. He noticed a figure, draped in dirty cloth that covered all of the body from sight, sitting far down the alley. A glowing glass orb lay on a pillow in front.

Pip stood fearfully, rigid and still. The moment the figure came into sight he felt cold. The light and color of the alley seemed to drain away as the world around him seemed to close in. Pip's eyes darted back and forth as he saw the whole world become a venomously chilled black. He felt silence engulf him, until he heard a voice. It seemed to travel on the air and through it. It had no echo. Coming from all around him, yet not.

“ **Y_u _il_ b__om_ _ K__g… Y_u _il_ b__om_ _ K__g… Y_u _il_ b__om_ _ K__g…** ”

“Oh hey Mr. Garrison.” Stan waved politely to the figure.

Pip snapped out of his trance as the words from Stan echoed to him. The figure in cloth raised what was concealing his head, showing off an older bald man with glasses.

“Stan! What the hell did I tell you kids about interrupting my prophecies?!” The old grade school teacher of Pip and Stan put his hands on his hips, both balled into fists. The wrinkles on his forehead were angled down, to further express his frustration with the young man behind Pip.

“Muh-Mr. Garrison???” Pip said wide-eyed, taken aback.

“Oh yeah, I forgot to tell you Pip, Mr. Garrison became an oracle as a hobby.” Pip’s eyes darted to Stan as his furrowed eyebrows showed his confusion. Stan shrugged and said “He just felt like doing it one day, I don’t know.”

“What’s wrong with a grown man having a hobby? I swear, kids today. You didn’t even let me finish my prophecy! Hold on.”

Pip felt the cold and emptiness surround him again, although knowing it was Mr. Garrison’s made him feel significantly less tense. Mr. Garrison’s voice came in like the voice from earlier.

“Sometimes I hate this damn thing. I got how many letters and words, but the letters come in one at a time and I have to guess. It’s like hangman for retards!”

Pip looked nervously to the left and right at his old teacher’s supernatural frustrations and inappropriate language. He jumped a little as he heard something like a duller tapping on a microphone.

“Alright here it is. *Ahem* You will become a king… You will become a king. Finally, Jesus.”

The emptiness vanished from the world as Mr. Garrison held up his orb, he started shining it with his dirty clothes. “That’ll be twenty bucks.”

“A… king? What am I to become king of?” Pip looked curiously towards the old man.

“Hell if I should know, could be one of those stupid cash stealing IPhone apps for all I care about. Now seriously give me twenty bucks, this crap is hard to do.”

“Oh, um, of course.” Pip stuck his hands in his pockets to pull out his wallet. While sorting through his catched he looked back up. “Was that all there was to the prophecy?”

Garrison thought for a second. “I think there was something about you falling in a hole, but it just sounded stupid.”

“Oh really? Did it say when that was supposed to happen?”

“Wasn’t it… the 15th of January at 11:00 A.M.?” Mr. Garrison checked his watch. “Oh hey, look at that, it’s that time right now.”

“Well, that’s quite a coincideeeAAAAAA-!”

The earth suddenly opened up under Pip, ripping a massive hole that went to each side of the alley. Pip flailed for something to grab onto in the second he was at ground height, unfortunately Stan was the only thing in range.

“Woah hoLY SHIIIIiiiii-!” Stan felt himself being grabbed by the bigger man. Unable to match the brit’s weight, he felt himself be precariously pulled into the hole.

The hole wasn’t dark at the bottom but spewed out light like some sort of energy lay at its bottom. Pip, Stan and his toolbox, and some garbage bags fell into the hole in a couple of seconds. After they had disappeared from sight, the hole closed its monstrous jaws and shut itself. Concrete came together like teeth as they melted together. The alleyway looked exactly the same, minus a couple of missing trash bags.

Mr. Garrison sat frozen in horror. Two of his old students of his had been swallowed up by the Earth in some sort of supernatural catastrophe. Two lives had been taken right in front of his very eyes, never to be seen again. Their time on the Earth taken away in an instant.

Then he remembered that they forgot to give him the twenty dollars.

“Oh, goddamnit!”


	3. Time Travel’s Like a Buffet, Don’t Ask for Seconds

In an infinitely white whispy dimension of nothingness, two young men fell for what felt like an eternity. Both screamed and yelled for a good ten seconds after they got swallowed up by a hole. In silence they frantically looked around for anything in the empty space, but with nothing to show they promptly went back to screaming and yelling.

Near what was assumed to be the bottom of this nothing a small black dot came into being. This dot grew and grew as the two falling men inevitably approached ever closer. When it seemed that they were about to impact with it, it exploded in size and engulfed them like the hole they so recently fell into.

Bright light and color seemed to flash them. What appeared to be a field suddenly had materialized underneath them. Both young men seemed relieved to finally see something familiar, the ground. But their relief perished when both of them realized what they were currently speeding towards. The ground.

Both tumbled towards the newly present Earth at a dangerously high velocity. Their impact would have been violent, probably fatal, had it not been for the massive hay pile. Stan landed directly in the middle of the pile, quickly being fully covered in hay. Pip landed more to the side, rolling and tumbling down the massive dump of hay until hitting the ground face first with a sickening thud.

“Ow! Me noggin!” Pip looked at the ground as he bent over, rubbing his bruised forehead. He stopped when he heard the clanking of metal. He knew it wasn’t Stan’s toolbox, as they seemed to come from the oh so recently formed shadows hovering over him. Pip slowly looked up and saw four figures dressed in armor standing in front of him. “Um... Is there something I can do for you chaps?” They stared at Pip silently.

Suddenly they all went and grabbed Pip by his arms and legs! "Gah!" They turned him over and started carrying him. Pip looked at them as they marched away from the hay stack. “Oh dear, did I do something wrong?”

One of the armored men turned his head. “Yes, you have fallen from the sky, so you are hereby charged with the crime of witchcraft!” Pip tilted his head to see Stan pop his head out of the hay pile.

Pip raised his eyebrows worryingly. “Witchcraft? I can assure you that I have done nothing of the-”

“Hold on!" The knight silenced him. "Sheesh, let me finish my sentence. I was going to say you are charged with the crime of witchcraft! WITHOUT A LICENCE!”

Pip fell silent as they marched farther away. “…License?”

A faint ruffling could be heard in the area. Pip looked back and saw from a distance Stan shuffle out of the hay pile, brushing and shaking off as much of the hay as he could as he reached solid ground. He saw Stan inhale as he raised his arm, holding his finger up and ready to call out towards the men to stop. Pip cringed as three garbage bags full of tin cans and Stan’s toolbox rudely interrupted him. Stan stood for a second in frozen shock, then limply fell backwards onto the hay fully unconscious. Hay from the top of the pile fell and buried most of him. Pip saw his brown hat lazily land on top of where Stan was buried.

Pip shuffled a little from the men carrying him, the metal was cold and sharp against his clothes. As they carried him, he noticed something odd about the buildings they passed. They were simple, made of greyish clay bricks and wood, with hay roofs. Time passed and they were passing more and more buildings, until eventually they seemed to be in a town. Due to a lack of noisy honks and screeches, Pip realized that there weren’t any cars to be found. Come to think of it there didn’t seem to be that much advanced technology at all.The road they were on was solid, but from what he heard it was all rock and concrete. The people he saw pass them wore lots of cloths, surprisingly somehow cleaner than how Mr. Garrison was dressed before Pip fell into the hole. He noticed that in the moment they would glance at Pip, curiosity and confusion tended to sweep their faces.

His armored captors made a sharp turn onto a large path, leading to a large stone bridge. While Pip could only see it upside-down, he saw that there was an exceptionally large castle was at the end of the bridge. Entering under a gate they passed through a courtyard, then into the castle. Once inside they twisted and turned through dark hallways only illuminated by torches on the walls and the occasional window. Pip saw that they arrived at two massive wooden doors, covered in drapes of many designs, colors, and patterns. Many guards dressed similar to the men carrying him stood guarding the door. “Is that where we are going?”

“No, to make people of such heinous acts have a punishment as drawn out and torturous as possible, they must go through the suffering that is…" The knight paused for dramatic effect. "...The waiting line!”

Pip looked and saw that to the left of the door there was a line of people. The line was quite long, as it stretched around a corner to another hallway. A decent number of them huffed or tapped their foot impatiently. “Oh. Could I stand while we’re waiting?”

“No.”

"Aw."

Stan grunted as consciousness came back to him. He slowly got up and out of the small pile of hay on top of him. "Ugh." He flinched, feeling the bump on his head. His other hand brushed up against something not straw-like. Stan turned to look at the brown newsboy hat that was on him. It was definitely Pip’s. He grabbed it and the toolbox that knocked him out. He felt that his hat was a little wet, he must have bled a little in his unconsciousness. Stan quickly opened the toolbox and took out some bandages. Eyeing around as he took his hat off, the footprints of the knights only went as far to the stone road next to the pile of hay. Imagining splatting against the hard stone made him shudder. Thank god him and Pip didn’t land ten feet to the right…

With nothing left he could do, Stan finished placing his bandages and chose one direction on the road and walked. Neatly putting his hat back on he whistled a little. It was pretty desolate, but it did seem to be farmland after harvest. It’s not like there’s supposed to be many houses around. Stan stopped walking for a second as he thought about that. In his time one farmer could do fields upon fields of work, but that was because they had tractors and other machines to do it for them. Knights weren’t apart of his time, and those knights certainly didn’t act like they were out of place. If this was medieval times, how did they harvest all these crops with so few people around? Stan sighed, more importantly, had he really gone through so much nonsense in his life he immediately accepted the fact that he was in medieval times?

Stan practically ignored the rest of the environment around him as this question bugged him. When he passed one of the few houses on the side of the road, he didn’t notice the door belonging to it open. He also didn’t notice the figure step out and wave in his direction.

“Marsh! H-Hey! M-Marsh, over here! Gah!”

Stan turned towards whoever was calling out. Did he… did he just say his name? Stan shook his head for a second and dismissed it, simply assuming that he misheard the young man. He began to walk towards who was calling him. He was blond. Stan wondered what this person he never met wanted from him. Then again, Stan could tell that the leather and jean clothes he was wearing were a lot more advanced than the cloth the man wore. Why else would he be shaky?

Stan’s eyebrows slowly fell as he got closer to the man. Upon closer inspection, his blond hair came out spiky. The clothes he wore weren’t poorly made, they were just sloppily put on. And he wasn’t shaking because of the cold, Stan recognized that the man probably did this normally from his cheerful complexion. Stan’s eyes widened when he finally recognized who he was.

“Tweek Tweak?”


	4. The Dork Descent

“W-Wow Marsh, you sure know how to make a journey short. Ngh.” The blond stuttered as he led Stan into his house. “I was w-worried you were going to robbed and murdered, and then they’d come for me!” He shuddered.

That’s Tweek Tweak all right. Stan walked into what he assumed was a living room. A table and 4 chairs were in the middle, with a fireplace on the right. It was plainly decorated. “Yeah, one of those holes got you too? How long have you been here?”

Tweek’s eyebrow rose and his eyes looked for anyone peeking in through the windows. “My… entire life? Are you okay Marsh?” He scanned over Stan’s clothes as best he could. His eyes shot open. “Gah! Y-You haven’t joined a cult or anything, right!?”

“What? No! You know I’ve never trusted-”

“Wait, p-people are being swallowed up by holes!?” The tips of his fingertips shook against his mouth as he began to panic. “Is it gnomes? Wait...are you a gnome!?” He pointed at Stan’s attire. “What happened to the real Marsh!? Don’t take my blood!”

“Woah woah woah, calm down!” Stan felt backed against a wall. "Easy, easy!"

"W-what's with all this then!?" Tweak shuddered and his eye twitched. "What happened!? Gah!"

Tweek Tweak couldn’t have fallen down one of those holes, Stan thought, his reaction was too genuine. Which means either he got here another way or really lived here all his life. Since he was wearing such old-fashioned clothing, it was probably all his life. Which means it wasn’t Tweek Tweak, or one he knew at least. Which means Stan was talking future foreign talk in future foreign clothes with future foreign tools in his hands. How could he explain that?

“Amnesia.”

“W-what?”

“I can’t remember anything. I was trying to play it cool because I have no idea how I got here. It looked like you knew me.” Stan looked to the side and scratched the back of his neck.

“O-oh Jesus! What caused you to have that?” Tweek’s eyes wandered towards Stan’s hat, which still had some patches of red on it. He saw the bandages peek out underneath the cap. “Did a murderer try to beat you to death!? Did he steal your clothes and give you plague infested new ones!?”

“Uh, I don’t think so, I think this just fell on my head.” Stan raised the toolbox, and emphasized that metal was in it by shaking it. “This tool-er, metal box? It’s got a dent in the bottom so I assumed.”

“What’s this?” Stan let the young man examine the toolbox, the metal inside shifting and moving in tune with the blond’s shaking hands. He opened it and pulled out his power tool. “Is... I-Is this supposed to be some sort of vase or-” Before he could finish his sentence he put his finger on the trigger, causing the machine to whir loudly. “GAH! Get it away from me! It’s a weapon! I'm gonna die!”

“Wait, wait, don’t worry.” Stan calmly patted Tweek's shoulders. He picked up the power tool, a bit, and a screw from the toolbox and combined them. “It, uh, puts these screw things in walls.” The tool whirred as the screw buried itself in the wall.

“O-oh!" Tweek suddenly looked overjoyed. "Oh! You got the tools we n-need!” Tweek turned his head at Stan’s hand. “Wow, ngh, they weren’t lying when they said foreign tools are more advanced than ours. This'll make business thrive!”

“Huh, too bad. I mean it's gotta run out eventually.” Stan said sadly. He sat down and propped his elbow on the table, letting his chin rest on his hand’s open palm.

“Run out? Tweek rotated it, as if expecting some sort of hungry mouth to feed. “W-what does it need? How do you know?”

“Elect-Uh.” Stan started scratching the back of his neck again. “That’s the thing, I tested it before I got here out of curiosity, and suddenly it wouldn’t move. It took a while, but I, uh, replaced the detachable thing on the bottom with a spare one from the metal box.” Stan gestured towards the large battery on the bottom of the power tool, Tweek pulled it out with a little gasp. “There’s this little symbol on the thing that looks like a lightning bolt, so it seems to run on lightning. I’m sorry, but, we can’t get very far with these.”

Tweek looked at the battery silently. “Oh, I g-get it." He looked to Stan. "L-Like electricity? We’ve got plenty of that here.”

Stan’s eyebrows furrowed downward. “You-…You do?” They had electricity in medieval times? Wasn't that Benjamin Franklin's deal?

“Well of course we d-do, why wouldn’t-o-oh yeah, the amnesia. S-sorry. Ngh.” Tweek ruffled his already messy blond hair, looking up as he sorted his thoughts. “I’ve never seen it stored like this before, but I’ve seen some witches use electricity to p-power some machines of theirs.” Tweek let out a squeak as he saw Stan’s eyes widen in surprise. “Oh man, how hard did you get kn-knocked in the head?”

“Enough.” Stan rubbed his forehead. “So magic’s just a common thing around here or?”

“It is. Well, n-now it is.” Tweek fidgeted with his hands. “We got a new king a couple years back, he’s really young. Like most kings t-to be honest. Most people didn’t like him at first, and there’s a b-big reason why. But a year and a half ago he made all non-v-violent or crippling witchcraft legal in our country. I was really afraid, since I was cursed with some ‘caffeinating spell’ since I was young. W-what if I got hit with another!?”

“Oh.” Stan looked off into space with eyebrows raised, this was a lot of information to take in. “...What do I do, by the way?”

Tweek grinned hopefully, as if maybe things would go back to normal after what he said. “You work with me. We installing plumbing into people’s houses. Gah! Since magic got really popular in the last half year, metal b-bending has been easier than ever. I set the pipes, then you reframe the house. And now you got the tools where we can work twice as fast!” Tweek’s face changed from one of excitement to one of dread. “You, d-do you remember how to do that?”

Stan scratched his chin for a couple seconds. “Yeah, yeah I think I can manage that.” Stan looked nervously to the smiling blond. Tweek as a plumber? That was strange. But if anybody was going to be one in this bizarre world it might as well have been him. All day every day working in the back of his parent’s coffee shop, having to learn how all those coffee machines worked at such a young age. Stan thought back to the metal bending. “Why is witchcraft hated so much if it seems so useful? and harmless”

Tweek shifted his head to the left and right. “Well, lots of people’s religions go against the practice of w-witchcraft. It didn’t really help when the king enforced it. Lots of people hate him for a strictly religious purpose, actually. And n-not just... not just because of the witchcraft...” Tweek rubbed his arm and looked to the side after he caught Stan’s narrowing eyes. He bit his lip nervously.

“He’s, ah, kind of, the son of Satan?”

Pip felt tired. The line was so unpleasantly long. It especially didn’t help that his armored friends refused to stop carrying him. Strange, as they looked tired of carrying him as well. Pip was pretty taller than all of them, they must have been a little over 5”1’ each. He would have gladly sat down for them if they felt he was too heavy. He wished he had his hat with him, he hoped Stan was taking care of it well. Come to think of it he hoped Stan was taking care of himself, that was an awfully painful looking blow to the noggin he took.

The sound of giant doors bursting open and a man screaming alerted Pip, and his head flew up to the commotion. A man yelled as he barreled out the two doors, mostly likely because of the fire. The man had been set ablaze and was trying to run away from what was on him. He fell to the floor, writhing to get the flames off that flickered on his body. Pip looked at his agony before water appeared from nothing and put him out. A man at the doors proclaimed “Next!”

Pip’s eyes looked worrisome as he was carried between the doors.


	5. Medieval Ace Attorney

Pip shuffled as the two doors opened just enough for him and the four people carrying him. The room behind the doors was two stories large. Pip saw that the second story opened up, jutting into rooms with small round balconies. Multiple men and women looked down to the inevitable clash between the small jogging group and the two people at the end of the hall, most likely excited from the previous guest.

The middle of the room was marked with a long blood red carpet, 6 feet wide. On each side of the carpet were many tall golden candelabras with one large candle, each parallel and spaced 6 feet apart. Between these candelabras was one armored man. The placing of the candelabras left only enough room for 6 armored men.

666\. The mark of the devil. Was this a coincidence? Yes, actually. Anybody could be in that room picking out things that happened to be in sixes, and do it all day. There were 6 shields hanging on the walls. There were 6 women looking down into the room from the balcony. The standing armored man on the far left had 6 toes on his right foot. Any connection to the forces of Satan and evil in this room was most likely coming from a crazy conspirator’s troubled head.

However, it would be of anybody’s best interest to emphasize that at the end of the blood red carpet sat the Antichrist.

Beyond the carpet lay a raised platform of wood outlined by clean cut stone. On the 12 foot wide platform, there were two large, deep dark grey stone thrones. One of them was occupied. The 5”10’ man sitting there had his elbow on the armrest of the throne, his fist supported his face. A smirk was firmly etched into it. His other hand gripped the side of the stone, smoke gently emanated from it. The figure wore all black cloth, but had bright red metal for any connections, patterns, or jewelry on his clothes he felt necessary. One of them being an upside down cross hanging from the necklace around his neck. He wore a large cape black on the outside, and as bloody red as the carpet on the inside. Pip couldn’t help but notice his gaze kept going back to the man, as he observed the room he was being carried in.

“Crime?” Pip broke his view from the man in the throne to the person standing in front of the platform, behind a podium. The person wore a pink beret, a small black feather poking out of it. Under a cropped cape of light blue lay a plain white cloth shirt and purple trews. They were scribbling something down on the podium with a large purple quill. The person arched an eyebrow while they eyed Pip, expecting an answer after a time of silence had passed. They nodded their head in the direction of the closest knight.

“He has been charged with witchcraft without a license, due to him falling from a sky. Me and my three colleagues were observing the farm landscape when we saw him fall from above and land onto a hay pile.” They replied quickly.

The person nodded as he wrote. They looked back to Pip. “How do you plead?”

Pip’s eyes widened as all eyes in the room seemed to land on him. “Um, I, I suppose I plead guilty, if that’s the case.”

The person bent down to the podium, but straightened back up and raised his eyebrows. They looked as if they had misheard something. “You plead guilty? Is that what you said?”

Pip nervously looked to the side and back to the person. “Yes, well, I did land on that hay stack and crack my noggin.” He shook his head a little, to attempt to show the bruised bump on his forehead.

The person narrowed their eyes and raised one eyebrow curiously. “How did you get into the air? By flight, teleportation, or miscellaneous?”

“Um, I was standing in an alleyway, and when I was talking to my old grade school teacher this hole opened up underneath me and-”

“Let him go. You are dismissed.” The person looked to the armored men carrying Pip. They quickly put him back on his feet as they obeyed the person. Pip placed his arms near his chest in surprise. The knights quickly walked back to the large doors behind them to exit. They chatted as they left.

“Should we have lunch? I was thinking of the Ye Olde Chipotle’s in front.”

Before Pip could turn back to make sure he heard that sentence right, the person behind the podium started to speak.

“Teleportation is a generally difficult magic technique to perform correctly. The room for error is much higher and much more deadly than many forms of witchcraft performed today. But it is possible to perform teleportation without a license using the newly revised technique. This technique is for the user to quickly suck their body into an infinitely small space and release some distance away, the difficulty increases the farther the distance. However, teleportation by stabilizing a hole in the world is an ancient and inefficient form of teleportation. One that absolutely needs a form of license and years of practice, or the extremely rare gifted individual. A user would have to keep a steady stream of powerful energy perfectly aligned in order to not risk injury. Such a form is only used by the most powerful, old, and stubborn of witchcraft users. You are practically confirmed innocent.”

Pip chuckled as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh my, that’s good to hear. Um, I’m new here to this country, what’s this all about licenses?”

The man raised his eyebrows, but shrugged, then nodded towards one of the armored men standing between the candelabras as they spoke. “Licenses are small cuts of lead covered in symbols unique to the user, it’s usually kept in a pocket. Once somebody uses a form of witchcraft on command…” The knight held his open palm out to one of the lighted candles, a small card-shaped stone floated out of his suit and in front of his hand. He tightened his hand into a fist and the light on the candle went out. The metal then began floating in a circle around his head. “…The magic goes through the license for an amplication of power, making it easier for those who are not gifted to use witchcraft. It hangs around a person’s head for thirty minutes after a spell, in order to make it easy to catch those who use it for criminal purposes and other reasons.” The person leaned over and looked to the great doors, expecting someone else to enter. “Were you the last in line?”

Pip clasped his hands together. “Yes, well, you see they all left after that one chap got burned." Pip nodded slowly. "If it wouldn’t be too rude to ask… What made the poor fellow burst into flames like that?”

Annoyance flashed across the man’s face as he looked to the end of the blood red carpet. He could still make out where the burned man had tripped onto it, freshly singed and blackened. His eyebrows furrowed. “That man-” They stopped talking immediately, because they heard a rustling behind them.

The man in the throne had stood up. He looked down upon Pip as he walked down from the platform. Well, as best he could when he grew shorter than Pip walking down the stairs. “That fool.” Pip opened his eyes in shock. “He disrespected my castle, he disrespected my subordinates, and therefore he disrespected me.”

Pip couldn’t speak. The moment he heard the man speak he realized he would be stunned beyond movement. When that voice came to his ears, he could only think of one thing. One thing from that handsome man…

His voice was so… _**high pitched.**_


	6. They took mah joke!

Pip stood still in silence as the man took his first step off the stairs. The high octave of his voice certainly threw Pip off, as it forced him to listen to anything the man would say. And it wasn’t even more feminine like the one the person behind the podium had. It was as if he had literally just sucked in helium before talking. Pip was reminded of the voice he had when he was 8 years old at South Park Elementary. In fact this man’s voice probably WAS that octave. He must be terrific at speeches if everybody listens to him so quickly…

“When he came in, it was quickly apparent that he was not the most polite of...gentleman. He came in before the previous guest could even finish her request, it was even more unappealing to hear him start yelling out demands the moment he touched that carpet. I assume you saw him barge in without waiting in line?”

Pip rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Well… I would have, but the position I was being carried in wasn’t too good for seeing things in front of me. I did hear the doors open and close without a "next". The guards didn’t seem too interested in stopping whoever went through though, odd.”

The man’s eyelids fell as his expression seemed to dull. “Ah yes, guards Donovan and Tucker are more there for decoration.” An evil smirk crossed his face. “I don’t truly need guards for me, you know.”

Pip nodded. He might have been intimidated if the man’s voice was lower. But something about his high pitched voice did feel familiar…

“But to keep matters organized, I keep guards here to take away anyone who refuses to leave upon my request.” The smirk returned. “For their safety.” He stepped to the side and raised his arm to the armored men standing between the candelabras. “They were going to take him away immediately, but I intervened. I wanted to humor the raving lunatic, before stomping his hopes out.”

Pip watched as the man walked over to the person behind the podium. “But to my surprise I wasn’t the scapegoat this time.” The man placed his hands on the person, they winced for a moment but relaxed quickly. “…But my closest subordinate. Supposedly he was the recorder of crimes when the last rulers were here. Like any idiot he blamed his dismissal on his replacement, and not the fact that he didn’t know how to write. He came ranting right up to this podium, and kept repeating the same drunkard statement.” He put his arms on the sides of the podium and tensed. “She terk mah jerb!”

Pip put his hand over his mouth as he let out a muffled giggle. He quickly put his hand down as the man’s gaze, with arched eyebrow, turned to silence him. Pip smiled as the man stepped away from the podium and in front of him, brushing the front of his shirt as if he could clean off what he just did. The man looked to the left and right, as if something hallucinogenic was floating in the air. He seemed curious as to why he did something so childish, and what may have caused it. Pip noticed the upside down cross on his necklace was still swinging a little. He took a mental note of it, and the obscene amount of black he was wearing. Pip brightened up when he realized something looking at the raven haired man. He smiled happily.

He looked back to Pip and furrowed his eyebrows at him. “Why do you now have such a large smile on your face?”

“Oh, it’s nothing Damien. I was thinking of how silly the man must have looked when he came in so rudely.”

Damien scoffed and turned to his throne. “Yes, it was quite a sight. You were carried here by your arms and legs, yet you had easily more dignity than him.” His eyes widened a little as he turned back to Pip, then they narrowed quickly. “While I appreciate the politeness of your intentions, as a king you must refer to me as ‘Lord Thorn’, got it?”

“Lord Thorn” looked back to the person when he saw Pip nod his head. “Anyway, the fiery red head came in here to claim his job back. I should have picked it up from his speech patterns at first, but I asked him why he believed him to be so much more qualified for the job. Much to my dissatisfaction, he claimed that he should get his job due to my subordinate being a woman.” He shook his head. “Naive. Even if my subordinate defined themselves as a woman because of their sex, nothing would change. He’s the best writer and organizer in this kingdom. There are absolutely no benefits to letting him go. I expressed myself clearly, the only thing that matters in my castle is a person’s job and how well they can do it. He got furious with that. He swore and insulted my subordinate through slurred and incoherent speech. Once he ignored my demands to stop talking, I let him experience pain far worse than his words.” He raised his palm out, a small trickle of smoke came out of it as it glowed somewhat. “But then again, this isn’t what you’re here for.” Damien snapped to the man behind the podium, signaling him to start something.

The man got out his quill again and placed it against the podium. He spoke in routine. “Now that we’ve established your innocence and method of transportation, can you describe to me the perpetrator behind the witchcraft?” He looked to Pip.

Pip looked away from the man heading back to his throne. “Hmm, I suppose that’s where it gets complicated, you see. I don’t really know who did any of that, or at least if someone did it on purpose.”

“Was there anyone there who at least might be connected to the hole?”'

Pip tugged on his collar a little at that question. “Well… Quite so, yes. There was one person. My old grade school teacher.” Pip decided to leave Stan out of this, he figured he didn’t technically have anything to do with this part. “I left from my town for, *ahem*, quite some time after, um, I went up north. I never knew that my old teacher became an oracle in his spare time. He was sitting in the alleyway with his crystal ball when I got sucked up.”

The man scribbled down what he said. “Yes, crystal balls are some of the earliest known forms of the licenses we use today. What was his name?”

“Well, I can’t remember his first name, but everyone called him Mr. Garrison-” Pip silenced once he heard a quill snap suddenly. The man looked to Pip with faint fear in his eyes and open mouth. Pip saw that Damien had turned around before reaching his throne.

Damien pointed to Pip. “Garrison is a well-known oracle. One of the gifted ones that have an excess amount of magical power behind them. He’s been known to accidentally give life to inanimate objects and dramatically change people’s lives when he makes predictions. But because he wanders so quickly he’s hard to track. He was your teacher?”

“W-Well, yes. When I was younger he taught me subjects like math and literature.” Pip rubbed his knuckles together. “…Tried to teach me subjects like math and literature. He wasn’t a very good teacher.”

Damien rubbed his chin. “I suppose that makes sense. Out of all the aging witches and warlocks in this kingdom he’s easily the most stubborn. That's his actual gift. He must easily get sidetracked by things he believes to be important.” He stopped rubbing his chin suddenly and lowered it. “You discovered he became an oracle when you met again. Which means he told you something. What did he say?” Damien’s words came off with a serious tone.

Pip face drained of emotions as he thought of what he was supposed to say. The death glare coming from the Antichrist himself caused his heart to race a little. “He said…Uh...He said that I was supposed to become a kinggggg…” He held the last syllable of “king” as he saw Damien’s face begin to tighten with anger. He looked around in desperation, and glanced to the man behind the podium. “…ggg’s most prized subordinate?”

Damien’s face shifted to one of confusion, then dropped and relaxed to one of mild curiosity. “Oh. Well then. If that’s the case I think I know what’s in order. You shall follow him-” He gestured towards the man behind the podium. “-and we will discuss this later. I am finished with public requests and crimes for today, I shall retire to my chambers.” He walked back over to the podium man. He whispered into his ear. “He’s lying. Let him work in the dungeons until he tells the truth.” The man nodded and Damien made his way to one of the side doors of the room. People in the balconies upstairs began leaving.

The man nodded towards Pip to follow him. “If you’ll follow me.”

Pip quickly followed. “Of course. Excuse me, but I don’t believe I got your name, what was it?”

“Testaburger. Wendyl Testaburger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your maturity is off to a great start, Damien


	7. A Baker’s Dumbasses

Stan stood on the edge of the small village. The size wasn’t unfamiliar to him, in fact it was about the same size as the town he so very recently lived in. No, the only thing unfamiliar about the town happened to be the content of it. Stan had hoped that the knights were just a coincidence, but much to his dismay it really was medieval times.

Stan rarely got into medieval Europe, it really wasn't for him. Too much disease and lack of technology. A crash course was all but necessary now, though.The only thing he bothered to remember about the place was that one Monty Python film. He forgot all about knights and castles ever since him and his friends stopped being 10 and playing medieval games. Too bad that King Douchebag guy threw that “stick of truth” in Stark’s Pond…

“Don’t worry Stan, I-I’ll get you through this.” Tweek came from behind and placed a hand on his shoulder. Tweek had changed out of his robes into more plain cloth, mostly dark green. As it turns out Tweek's robes from earlier were his home “Anti-gnome” clothing. Magic is weird. But Stan was used to weird at this point.

There weren’t any extra clothes at Tweek’s house though, at least in Stan’s size and not dirty as hell, so Stan didn’t change. Dressed in his leather jacket and blue hat with red puffball, Stan nervously walked into the medieval village. Carrying his clanging toolbox didn’t help. He insisted that Tweek should probably bring his tools for him, but Tweek felt the opposite. “If you have amnesia you might as tell everybody now. Th-they trust you!”

He remembered the last time he went to a village with an old-time theme. With four dead Burger King robbers he quickly decided to never visit anything old again. And those were actors pretending to live in 1864, how far back was this town?

Actually that was a very good question, Stan couldn’t really tell where this exactly took place. It definitely had medieval themes, but it was just kind of off. For starters it was way too clean. He vaguely remembered The Holy Grail movie, but he was pretty sure any town was guaranteed filthy. Isn’t that why that Black Death happened? In fact hasn’t Europe been mostly dirty since forever, until like a hundred years ago? America wasn’t even really clean a hundred years ago, and it barely passes right now. Well, “now” as in… you know. Didn’t Tweek say that they have plumbing? Did medieval times have reliable plumbing? What’s wrong with this place?

It didn’t help with the townspeople here too. He was trying to lose himself in his thoughts about when this takes place, but kept catching people glancing confusingly at him. But to one person Stan responded back with a confused glance. They had a small floating lead plate hovering around their head.

Tweek saw Stan’s confusion. “Yeah, even though magic’s g-gotten so much popular in the last year, not that many people now how to use it. Could you imagine if most people d-did? Nggh, that would be way too dangerous, man!” He stuck his fingernails into his mouth to nervously bite on.

Stan looked to the sides of the road. It seemed to be a shop heavy part of town. Many open buildings had things sitting out in front waiting to be sold, but some went further into the building to show off a workshop of sorts. Some would be metal works, wooden toys, and, curiously, someone standing over a cauldron, who always seemed to have one of those stone plates floating above them. “So… what do people even sell with witchcraft? Can you sell witchcraft?”

Tweek looked to the side, deep in thought. “Well, I g-guess? You can’t directly give people the ability to use magic. But those who can use it generally only have a couple specific purposes. Our metal worker bends metals to make them long lasting and c-customizable. That’s why we’re going to her to try to copy those cool n-nails of yours.” He looked to one of the open buildings. “I think that’s a… some sort of ‘medicine’ store, whatever that is. I’ve heard it’s pretty good for some people, but I haven’t t-tried it out.”

“You probably should…” Stan thought to how the Tweek he knew got better after finally taking medication. Of course he drank less coffee, but he really wouldn’t have improved much without the medicine. Would this even Tweek get better? It was a caffeine trip from a magic curse, after all.

This Tweek. That Tweek. Stan found it so strange to think that there were multiples of people he knew. Sure, he encountered “Evil Cartman” that one time and the alternate dimension hole and copies of him and Kyle and… actually come to think of it he shouldn’t have been surprised by this at all. He wondered how everyone would look here. Oh god, there wasn’t a Cartman here, was there? How would Kyle react to that? Is there such a thing as Medieval Nazis?

The more people his mind wandered to, the more connections sprang up. He kept going on from all his friends, family, foes, and all the miscellaneous. He stopped suddenly when he haphazardly made the last connection. A pink beret sat emptily in his mind. He looked to Tweek when he thought of the possibility of something. “Um… Tweek, you wouldn’t happen to…?” The blond looked to Stan, curious as to what he could finish with. “…Nuh, nevermind. It’s nothing.”

Even if this Tweek knew the Wendy of this place, Stan couldn’t just ask him about it. He already took the amnesia ploy, he couldn’t just back out now. He saw Tweek’s concerned look, he needed to think of something. His eyes darted around. One store was titled with Blacksmi-...“Um well, we don’t really need a magic metal worker for these screws, er, nails, right? Why don’t we just go to a local blacksmith?” He led Tweek into the store.

The African man there overheard the last part of their conversation as they came in. He turned to the two with lowered eyebrows and a frown, as if he was unimpressed with something they said. “Very funny Marsh. I’m still a baker, through and through. Are you here for my milk bread or what?”

“Oh, uh..." He eyed the sign in the back of the store. Black's milk bread. "Sorry Token. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What’s with your clothes? Some cult got to you or something?” Token Black crossed his arms.

Before Stan could respond to the second time today he was accused of cult shenanigans, Tweek stepped in front of him. “N-no! Ngh, don’t worry! He's just got amnesia, something kn-knocked him on the head and he lost all his memory! He can’t even remember where he lives man! I'm helping him out. W-we gotta go see the metal worker now, though.” Tweek gave him a wave.

Token waved back. The two young men made their way out of the shop and down the street. Token shook his head at the practical joke before going back to work. He staggered suddenly when he realized something.

“Amnesia? But he remembered my name…?”


	8. Literally Dungeons and Dumbasses

Pip followed Wendyl Testaburger mindlessly, as his brain was too occupied with other matters to care about where he was going. Looking back, it was obvious that the man behind the podium was Wendy Testaburger. Well, not Wendy technically. It was clearly said by Damien that that person was a man. If he decided he was a man, he was a man, there was nothing Pip could argue about. Is that what Stanley got so depressed about? How strange, he was usually the accepting one of his group of trouble makers.

Although then again, everything that led up to this moment pointed towards this place being out of this world. South Park was always a town of supernatural events. But this could be some extreme medieval theatre for all Pip knew, he wouldn’t put it behind the South Park residents. Perhaps Stanley actually just greatly disliked Wendyl’s medieval hobbies? Pip remembered his classmates’ hatred for anything British, or at least anything British that he was. It would make a little more sense than alternate dimensional travel, but...only a little.

Pip stopped racking his brain to the sudden creaking of metal. Wendyl slowly opened up a metal door of bars. Behind the bars was a small room made of stone. A simple blanket and pillow on a raised platform was the bed, and there was a toilet. A single window was placed just above the average height of a man, but judging by the heights of most of the people he saw today, Pip assumed the average height of people where he was now was noticeably lower. It was so much darker than the rest of the castle upstairs, as the torches were so much scarcer on the walls. It was kind of like a prison cell. “Kind of”, meaning absolutely in nearly every way, shape, and form.

“If you would, please.” Wendyl placed his hand on Pip’s back and led him into the room. “Now, you’re probably going to be here for a while.” Wendyl closed the bar door. “Depending on how well you do of course.” He locked the door. “But you could just tell me now and save yourself any hassle.”

“Tell? I don’t believe I have anything I need to tell. Is this the guest room?” Pip said examining the room.

“You could say that. We keep our, uh, favorite guests in places like this. Don’t worry, as long as you’re compliant you should be treated fine here. But for now you’ll have to stay here, the king works better if his guests are easily managed.”

Pip nodded hesitantly. “Right-O?”

Wendyl left, leaving Pip locked in the room. He sighed, then tried laying down on the “bed”. It wasn’t half bad, minus the cold hard feeling of the stone he laid on. At least he had a blanket.

Wendyl calmly made his way of the dungeons of the castle and farther up it. The more he climbed stairs, the more well lit the castle became. After a decent walk He made his way to a double door entrance in the wall, the sides being marked by intricate tapestries of blood red flowers. He knocked on the door.

“Enter.” Came a muffled voice behind the wooden doors.

Wendyl opened the door and stepped inside. Damien hadn’t changed, and was looking out a window. The room was mostly furnished, drawers, closets, and tables lined the sides of the walls with some having a mirror connected on top. Two windows both had red curtains, and faced the front of the castle. A large bed with black curtains lied in the middle of the room.

Wendyl approached the man, ready for business as usual. All schedules and plans of people in the dungeons had to go through Damien, he always insisted that he took a part in it so he could schedule his daily routines around it after all. There were very few people in the dungeons because of this, though. Damien could easily draw out anything he wanted out of prisoners.

Wendyl looked through his scroll. “I believe he should start working tomorrow from the morning to noon, then supper to late night. The fertilizer filter system should be effective. It’s dirty, but not especially dangerous to one’s health. The added isolation will help here as well, if we’re drawing out information. It should make him exhausted at the end of each day, but not enough to wear him down quickly.”

“Good. If there are any extra options you think of, tell me. This is a special case.” Damien dismissed the man. Wendyl left the room quickly and obediently.

Damien slowly walked over to the window. He took off his cape and placed it on a wall hanger. He leaned and crossed his arms onto the open sill. The young man with blond hair causally invaded his mind. The thought of the blond taking over as king warped Damien’s mouth to a frown. Not only would all of Damien’s work be for nothing, but the inevitable disaster of his ruling had to be avoided.

Unfortunately there was also the small chance that he wasn’t lying. Very unlikely, but one can never take chances when oracle prophecies are involved. He had to know exactly what the oracle Garrison said to him, so he could find the quickest loophole that kept him in charge. Even swapping out for a day could result in irreversible consequences.

That was the thing about prophecies and destinies, it’s all a mind game really. Every time someone’s life was destined to end in disaster, that person would always be the one to bring themselves down. Cheat, lie, kill, twist, torture, slaughter, it didn’t matter, they would sink to any low to make their fate not happen. The only way to avoid it was work around it. Define disaster, and reshape it to your liking.

He looked out from the window, past the front of his castle and into the village. He couldn’t help but smirk at his work. He got both plumbing and magic accessible to the public within the past year. All the dirty, shit-filled roads got replaced with stone. He hired garbage men and general cleaning crews to keep the town clean. Magic and medicine greatly reduced the amount of people diseased.

It was simple. Almost laughably childlike, to be honest. He would just be the best king one could be. All he had to do was make it publicly known that he was the Antichrist.

Once he took over the kingdom with his, *ahem*, persuasion tactics, he immediately began working to try to improve the quality of life in the kingdom. It was of course difficult for the first couple of years, nearly everyone disliked or distrusted him due to his heritage. But he finally had gotten massive progress this year. The people would be even happier with the improvements in the upcoming years.

A despicable glare came to the Antichrist’s eyes. Of course, it was ironic wasn’t it? Misery, disease, and torture always burdened them with faulty, selfish ruling and violent terrorizers from outside the kingdom. No matter how much they prayed to their god or whatever they worshipped, nothing changed. So when the spawn of Satan was the one to answer their pleas, what were they supposed to do?

Why should they have trusted their original God? All that being ever did was leave them in pain. Left them to suffer in their mortal plane before leaving to meet him. Why take that when Damien could bring them happiness from the very bottom of his heart?

And when Damien became more trustworthy than God, what was the point of going to the former’s domain? If heaven could be like what their lives were like before, why not follow the generous Antichrist to hell?

And that was it. Make them want to go to hell. It didn’t matter if they were the purest person alive, if they wanted to go to hell, they’d go to hell. God loved his people too much to blatantly disrespect those kind of wants.

He turned back to the inside of the room, still smirking. His thoughts travelled back to his newest prisoner, and what labors he’d have to endure if he refused to talk.

“This will certainly be the most entertaining one yet. He won’t last a month before confessing.”


	9. Thousand and One

Damien paced furiously back and forth in his room. He frustratingly ruffled his hair before resting his hand on his forehead. He looked down and away from his subordinate.

“What do you wish to do, my lord?”

He slowly turned around and put his hand to his side, looking to the side with a frown. He tapped his foot impatiently.

It had been a month. A month had passed and no progress seemed to come up. Not a little, not even a smudge of progress. He remembered the first day when he met with Pirrup in the dungeon. When he got the same answer to what prophecy the man received, Damien politely commanded him to start pushing levers and wheels in the fertilizer filter section of the castle. Damien pretended that it would be his a sort of initiative training for being top subordinate, endurance or something idiotic like that. Pirrup was awfully cheerful when he got to work, even after Damien emphasized how he couldn’t help due to his role of a king. His workers seemed especially happy with the spontaneous vacation, too.

He didn’t expect much on the first day, time was always his greatest advantage when convincing people to confess something. But after a week passed of Damien coming to check on the Pirrup’s progress or ask if the man had anything to say, he noticed something. The young man hadn’t changed emotionally in the slightest since he started working.

As Damien visited more he noticed it mostly in Pirrup’s smile. Every single time he came to check on him the man’s face brightened into a cheery smile. As time went on more and more heat would creep onto Damien’s face when he saw that smile. He assumed frustration and impatience was catching up with him. The smile hadn’t faltered once since the day he met him, and was just as kind as then too. He hated looking at it.

Even the most resilient of “guests” were at least little less resilient after a couple of days had passed. They could be a little slower, could push a little less weight, and could be harder to wake, small changes to indicate that Damien would succeed in the end. But after minimizing the man’s food and sleeping hours and maximizing work hours, Pirrup seemed just as bright as ever.

“May I suggest something?” Wendyl interrupted Damien’s silence to draw his attention. “While I am unfamiliar with prophecies, I have heard that the supernatural tend to interfere when an obstacle is reached. Is it possible his stamina isn’t wearing down because of that?”

That was true. Damien may have been too used to his methods to normal people to consider someone who’s destined for something. Although Damien already checked and saw he had no magical potential, it was possible an outside force was keeping him vital. ...But was it keeping that smile so cheerful?

“Enough. I’m convinced that he’s not lying anymore. Even if his stamina was of magical origin, his disposition is too pure to outright lie to me. I’ll let him know myself.”

“Should I contact his friend?”

Damien placed his hand on his chin. Over the course of the young man’s time in his dungeon, only one man ever came to Damien to see if he was with him. Stanley Marsh came in his normal clothing a day after he took in his guest, after he returned from his surprisingly fast journey. He came in carrying a hat, which he claimed belonged to the man. Damien claimed to no longer know where the man is and dismissed him, but Marsh was persistent. He came in multiple times after that requesting some sort of search party or any information Damien had on his whereabouts.

“You might as well. We’ll have to tell him the half-truth though, as his friend probably will think nothing of speaking of his times in the dungeon. Pretend that I have extremely bizarre methods to training for subordinates.” Wendyl nodded and turned to leave through the door, but stopped when he heard the snapping of Damien’s fingers. “Wait. I want to invite Marsh over to treat him to dinner.”

“My lord?”

“How has building renovations been going in the past month?”

Wendyl nervously looked to the side. “Well, renovations and reconstructions have skyrocketed in efficiency due to Marsh’s discovery of his foreign tools. I haven’t seen him use them but they’ve definitely done the job. Are you sure-?”

“He has made the quality of life better, so we may as well reward him for his work, Testaburger. And diminishing any negative attitudes he may have towards us should be done as soon as possible. I don't want any unnecessary rumors starting up.” He turned around to grab his cape hanging on the wall. “…You hate whenever he comes in for a request, that needs to stop.”

Wendyl flinched for a second, luckily Damien was still turned around as he put on his cape. “He is like any other commoner who enters the castle, there is no reason-”

“No. You act differently to him than any other person whom we meet. You may not realize it, but I see you tense up and become more nervous when you talk with him.” He turned around. He noticed Wendyl’s expression was frustrated as Damien’s gaze pierced through him. “Even though he’s not your Stan Marsh, you’re going to have to deal with him either way if you live here.”

Wendyl looked to the side. “…Yes, my lord.” He then quickly exited the room. Damien left the room as well.

Damien walked in the opposite direction Wendyl did, passing a couple of loyal servants before quickly reaching a set of stairs. He descended as the walls around him became slighter dimmer and dimmer. The smell of feces and the sound of squeaking metal indicated his arrival to the fertilizer room. He stood on the stairs to avoid the mess on the ground.

“Pirrup.” Damien called out into the dimly lit room. The sudden halt of the creaking metal echoed through the room. A shadow stood up and trudged its way through the room, the extra fertilizer on the ground somewhat getting in his way. As it got closer, more and more details were discernable of the figure. The young blond man calmly made his way to the Antichrist. Once close enough to fully tell each other’s features, his face brightened up into a smile. Once again Damien felt heat on his face the moment he saw it. He hated how the feeling seemed to come on against his control.

“Anything I can do for you, Damien?” Pip said cheerfully.

“Lord Thorn.” He had been over this multiple times with the man, but he seemed insistent on using his first name. “And no, there’s nothing else you have to do now. You’ve proven your endurance and I trust your abilities to join my league.” He studied the man’s attire. “I’ll have you fitted for new clothing, and clean the ones you have now if you wish." He motioned to Pip. "If you’ll follow me.”

The man nodded and obediently followed as Damien walked up the stairs. It was amazing how innocent and naïve the blond came off to Damien. He supposed he could be fine with another subordinate if they were incredibly hard to corrupt. “I must say I’m impressed, your stamina is above many others. That test was actually designed for it to end when someone was too exhausted to continue. Do you think there was anything that made this this easier to handle?”

The blond shrugged his shoulders. “Oh, it was nothing really. Kind of like my old orphanage, to be honest.”

The shorter man stopped and staggered, before turning to face Pip. “…You’ve been trudging through shit and dirt for a month for long hours in isolation, and your breaks were eating minimal amounts of food and sleeping.”

“Ah yes, it makes me oh so nostalgic.” Pip joyfully clapped his hands together under his chin. He saw that Damien’s eyes widen and expression had blankened in confusion before turning around. “If it makes you feel any better, there was one difference that might have made it better.”

Damien turned his head to show his eyebrow raised in curiosity. What could have been the secret to keeping this man going? “Yes? What is it?”

Pip rubbed the back of his neck. “There was someone who would visit just for me.”

Damien looked away from the man with a frown, and felt the heat return to his face. Not again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better get used to this, Damien.


	10. Goes Well on Toast

Wendyl exited the front of the castle and into the courtyard. He sighed before walking across the bridge connecting Damien’s castle to the town. The smell of the Ye Olde Chipotle stabbed his nostrils mercilessly. He began to walk a brisk pace, fast enough that he knew anyone who saw him would assume he was in too much of a hurry to be asked something.

He sighed again. Damien was right, he hated whenever this Stan came in for a request. He always felt guilty whenever they made eye contact. It didn’t matter that they never actually met, he knew both Stans were practically the same person in the end.  
It was supposed to be easy. When Wendyl left he could put it all behind him. Nobody could know what happened to him. Nobody could trace him. And most importantly, nobody could follow him. That was the deal, at least that’s what Damien said, when they left South Park.

Wendyl could deal with all the lookalikes, in fact it probably made his transition easier. As much as he disliked a multitude of the South Park residents, he still knew them. He quickly found that, emotionally, most were vaguely the same as their counterparts. While he knew them, they didn’t have any recollection of Wendyl. His counterpart was mysteriously absent from ever living in the town when he arrived. This made it easier to manipulate or work around others, all except for one of course.

He hated what he did to Stan, leaving without a proper warning like...that. But there wasn’t anything he could do about it. Wendyl made a contract and couldn’t back out of it, but he still regretted that its requirements were to be met immediately. Every time he saw this world’s Stan and his innocence and smiles, he thought of his Stan and the smiles he took away. He hated it.

He couldn’t bear to face Stan by himself, so that was why he never headed towards the little building Stan and Tweek Tweak owned for their businesses. He made his way to the manufacturer of their materials, the metalbender. Wendyl remembered lots of the South Park residents had been very unwilling or resistant to wholesome ideas or plans, which constantly annoyed Wendyl when he was there. But, there was one person who could follow nigh anything if you could convince them right. It did cause a nasty habit of them being the scapegoat of many failed escapades by the locals, though. Now this wasn’t their fault, they were just very easily manipulable.

Wendyl had to be honest, he never had looked forward to seeing that person’s counterpart once he got here. Constant exposure to those who manipulated them made them more bitter, more hateful. This led them to being primarily in the wrong whenever an issue came up. It was actually somewhat sad to see them hang onto Cartman’s ideals for so long after the boy's death. But this counterpart was different. He would like to say it was because of the mysterious absence of Cartman from the town's history, but you never know. And it wasn’t just that, there was something else about them that made Wendyl genuinely happy to spend time with them.

“Hello Marjorine.”

Wendyl stood at the front of a shop filled with various tools, ores, and other objects all made of pure metals. Organization wasn't present in this shop. At the end of the mess stood a desk with some uniquely shaped metals. Behind the desk a figure shot up, they seemed to have been under the desk for a while. They had blonde hair and pigtails, with dark green bows to keep them together. It complimented with the dark green long skirt and plain turquoise blouse they wore. Over their left eye was a thin, long scar that made the natural blue of the iris faded.

“Oh gosh, how’s it going Wendyl?” The blonde woman rubbed her knuckles together as Wendyl stepped inside. “You’re here kinda early, aren’t ya?”

Wendyl grinned, it was always refreshing to hear Marjorine talk. Most of the people in the town spoke in a somewhat English accent, but it was only slight, and to be honest it sounded like they were faking it half the time. Kind of like that… that one British kid that used to go to South Park Elementary. What happened to him again? He couldn’t remember his name. But nonetheless, Marjorine was the only one to talk with a slight southern twang to her voice. Just like Butters.

“You are correct. I’m here on business.” Wendyl stepped over the scattered pieces of metal on the ground to get to the front of the desk. “Lord Thorn has requested that Marsh attend tonight’s dinner. Could you inform him of this, I’m terribly busy.” Of course he lied about being busy, but he’d rather face that risk than face Stan.

“Oh, well uh, okay. I’m pretty sure we’ve got plenty of Marsh around here, right…? Will they listen…?” She stuck out her tongue a little and looked to the side.

Wendyl giggled for a moment, but only a moment. He made sure to stop before he and Marjorine made eye contact. When that happened he closed his eyes and began to bow. “Yes, thank you for agreeing to tell Stan Marsh about his invitation tonight.

Marjorine’s eyes widened a little as she let out a faint gasp. “Oh! Yeah, Stan. That’s what I meant, of course.” She looked to the side and whistled a little as she took a pipe off the desk, then she nervously began cleaning it with a dirty rag.

Wendyl smiled at the blonde’s failing act to cover up her mistake. It just reminded him of how fully innocent the Butters he knew used to be before Cartman. “I’ll see you later in the day, then.” He made his way to the entrance, until faint voice calling out stopped him.

“W-wait a minute Wendyl. I-uh…”

“Yes, Marjorine?”

She scratched the back of her neck. “Well I was just thinking Wendyl, don’tcha think it’d be more fancy-like if you told him yourself? He’s out back right now.” She put on her best smile, but it had strained with a nervous curl to it.

“R-Right now?” Wendyl stuttered a little as his face drained of color. He looked to the door behind the shorter blonde. “What’s he doing here? Isn’t he a woodworker?”

“I thought it’d be nice to get one of those plumbing systems everyone’s been excited about these past few months! Since I used my own metals, it was pretty cheap! Now I don’t have to go to those public ones the king put around the town.” She excitedly clapped her hands together.

A moment of silence was shared between the two. Wendyl glanced to the left and right before leaning back towards Marjorine. “…And?”

“Oh! Right. Since I live here, I don’t have a lot of room nowadays…” She gestured towards all the metal lying in the front room. “So Stan said he could build a little extra room attached to the back for me. I think he’s making a frame for it now?”

Wendyl looked blankly at the woman. He began to breathe a little heavily for a second and closed his eyes. “Right.” His eyes shot open. “Right right right. Of course.” He grabbed the collar of his shirt and stretched it out a bit. “It makes the most sense for me to do it now. It’ll only take a second.”

Another pause was shared between them. Marjorine nodded slowly. “…Didn’t you say you were awfully busy today?”

“Yes. Right.” Wendyl made his way across the store. “That’s why I’m going to tell him.” He stepped around the desk. “Tell him that he’s invited.” He opened the door closest to Marjorine. “Right now.” He promptly stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

Marjorine stared worryingly at the door, with both eyebrows raised.

“…You...You know that’s just a closet, right Wendyl?”


	11. Expositioning 2: Expositions

A loud whirring sound against splintery wood filled the air. A man bent over seemed to be pushing against a wooden frame. The whirring noise stopped and the man stood up after placing he tool on the ground. He put his hand on the large wooden beam. He pushed and patted against it, its sturdiness proved worthy and it stayed in place. The man’s attention suddenly shifted to the sound of something moving in the grass around him.

“Got those planks for you.” A clatter of wooden planks fell into a heap, outside of the small structure the man was standing in.

“Thanks Token.” Stan looked between the pile and the wooden beams. “Do you think surrounding the extra room with stone makes sense? It matches the back of the place, but it doesn’t seem like enough people come back here to care about looks right?”

“You’re talking like you’re 40. And do it anyway, it’ll stop robbers from trying to break in.” Token put his fists on his hips, with a small frown complimenting his raised eyebrows. “…You know why I’m helping you out, right Marsh?”

Stan sighed. “Yeah. Any luck finding someone who could-”

“Get you back?” He leaned against the beam. “I did. But there’s a tiny problem with that. I did research. Looks like the only people capable of a spell like that, and doing it correctly without any limbs flying, are the Ancients, who are assholes, and Lord Thorn, who’s an asshole.” He rubbed his knuckles against his purple shirt.

Token Black came from a monumentally rich family. They often spoiled themselves to things people could only dream of having. But as he got older he felt that the lifestyle wasn’t for him, and started working as a simple baker. This didn’t stop him from coaxing information out of his parents though, and as such he had quite a library of information to research.

“Who are the Ancients?”

“Oh, don’t worry. They’re not a race or anything. They’re just a bunch of old people who think they’re better off because they use traditional nonconventional methods of magic. That Garrison guy you were talking about earlier was one of them.”

Stan rubbed his chin. “So Damien’s my only way out of this? Yeesh. What makes you think he’s such an asshole anyway? He seemed kind of okay, egotistical, yeah, but still.”

Token raised an eyebrow as he shot him a glare. “Come on Marsh, even after I told you Donavan and Tucker saw your friend carried into his throne room and never carried out? Everyone's got an act to them, he isn’t different. There are quite some shady rumors about him that go around.”

Stan chuckled to himself. “It’s funny, really. Most people would probably be scared of just the title Antichrist. Yet he seems kind of standard to me.”

Token rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I get it. You’ve seen enough insanity to put us to shame.” He picked up the power tool, rotated it in his hand for a couple of seconds, then handed it to Stan. “But it’s where you belong, really. You gotta do it soon, too.”

Stan sighed. “I know… but I can’t just leave without knowing what really happened to Pip.” He bent over to grab one of the boards and screw it against the closest beam.

“We’ve been pretty lucky that the Stan Marsh I know has taken so long. I don’t think he’s dead… but it’s probably best you get out of here before anything confusing happens.”

“Yeah, I don’t see why he’d take this-” Stan looked up blankly as he got another board. “Actually nevermind, I’ve seen enough stuff to last him a good couple of years before he got back. Where was he getting those tools from again?”

Token rubbed his temple with one finger. “Well that's the thing I wasn’t that close to you, er, him. But I think I remember hearing you went to that Elvin Forest?” Token noticed Stan’s confused glance in his direction. “Does nobody bother to tell the amnesiac anything? Look, I’m pretty sure elves are just a bunch of people who seclude themselves in forests because of their culture.”

Stan took a moment from his drilling, and put his lower arm on his knee. “Do they have longer ears or anything…?”

“Nah, that’s just a myth. They’re just a bunch of weirdoes who live in a forest to be honest. Damn good at making things though, so that’s why you-” Token’s eyebrows wrinkled in frustration. “He went to maybe get some better equipment.”

“You can call him ‘you’ if it feels natural, dude. From how everybody’s described me we’re practically the same.” He stood up to screw the tops of the boards to the beam. “Guess I got lucky with my power drill then, huh? Unless he was bringing something better?”

“Actually… that’s a possibility.” Token saw that Stan looked straight confused now. “Well, most of Elvish equipment is imported, since they’re so stubborn on interacting with anybody else. But the only reason I knew why you were going there was because you were getting it directly from the king of the place. Uh…” Token snapped his fingers in thought. “Broflovski, was it?”

Stan’s eyes widened as he dropped the power tool, letting it clatter against the new wood floor of the restroom. “Broflovski?”

Token staggered back a little at the noise. “Hey, you okay?”

Stan’s expression was blank before he shook his head back and forth. “Oh, uh, yeah. The thing’s battery ran out, I accidently dropped it when I noticed.” Stan hoped to rely on Token’s unfamiliarity with power tools. “Can you take it to that Stoley guy to recharge it? He knows electricity.”

“Oh, uh, sure. Just be careful now.” Token awkwardly stepped over to grab it. He quickly made his way to the house’s side.

A faint blush crept onto Stan’s face. “…I’ve got a feeling those tools were just an excuse for something else…” He readjusted his collar before he heard a door open up behind him.

“Um, Stan?” A blonde poked her head out from the doorway. “Can you come in for a moment?”

“Oh, sure. Is there a problem with the restroom?” He stepped into Marjorine’s bedroom.

“No, no. It’s looking great so far. It’s just, ah, Wendyl visited to tell you something when you were working.”

“Oh wow, really? Is she, uh, he here now?”

“Well, I mean he is but, when he visited he kinda talked strange, and walked into the store closet. Think it was about ten minutes ago." Marjorine bit her lip. "…He didn’t come out.”

Stan stared blankly at her. “…Wendyl won’t come out of the closet.” Marjorine nodded. “Okay. …uh… I guess I’ll go check on him?”

Marjorine gave Stan a quick pat on the pack as he went into the shop room. “Good luck!”


	12. The Most Massively Useful Thing One Can Have

Stan stood in front of the store closet. He clasped his hands and rubbed them together. “Okay, okay. Here we go.” He blew out a breath of air before he put his hand on the door handle. The sharp creaking of rusted metal hinges filled the air as he opened the door.

“ _I’ve really gotta replace those…_ ” Thought Marjorine in the other room.

Stan saw a figure facing the back of the deceptively large closet. Shelves stacked with rusty metals were propped up against the walls. “Wendy? …ul. W-Wendyl?”

“Please come in, Marsh.” Wendyl said flatly. "Close the door, too."

"...Sure?" Stan entered the dark room and closing the door. “Did you need me for anything?”

“Yes.” Wendyl’s voice seemed more direct or closer, did he turn around? It was too dark to see.

“How would you consider your business within the past month?”

Stan visibly flinched (well, as visible as pitch black could be). “My… My business? You mean this is about my carpentry?”

“Of course. Unless I misread and you do a different kind of woodwork."

“…Uh…well, I think it’s been going well. Somebody asks me to build something and I do it.” Stan shrugged, but realized that the action probably couldn’t be seen. “That’s really about it.”

“You have been acknowledged by Lord Thorn. Your speed at repairs or construction is at least twice as fast as anyone else now. He wanted to congratulate you. You have been invited to a formal dinner tonight.”

“…Okay. Yeah.” Stan muttered out awkwardly. Why didn’t they just bother to send him a letter? “Well I’ll, uh, be there, I guess.” Stan clapped his hands together, yet a piercing silence filled the room. His eye twitched. “Alright I can’t take this anymore. Look I don’t know if you were going for symbolism or whatever, but holy crap I can’t see anything! I’m opening the door for some light.”

“W-wait, I wanted this to be a private invit-” Wendyl’s sentence was cut short by the sudden light of the opening door. He winced from sudden exposure. He sighed and slowly opened his eyes with a pained expression on his face. He wanted to wince again once Stan came into focus, but couldn't help but stare curiously at him. “What’s with that smile?”

“What?” Stan touched one of his cheeks, not realizing he had been smiling the entire time. “Oh, heh heh, uh, I guess I’m just happy to see you?”

“Wish I could say the same…” Wendyl muttered inaudibly under his breath. “If you have no further questions I’ll let you get back to your job.”

“Actually, I think I do.” Stan’s smile fell and his face warped to a pleading one. He saw Wendyl’s concern. “Do you know what happened to my friend, Pip?”

Wendyl’s expression became pained again. He inhaled. He had to be strong. “That’s classified.” He looked back to the pleading, puppy dog eyes Stan had on. “I…oh god.” Wendyl covered one side of his face with his hand, disappointed in himself. “Yes, I do know. He’s fine, and he hasn’t been in harm’s way since the first day you asked. You’ll see him tonight.”

“Oh man, that’s great!” He smile returned, but a second after his face suddenly blankened. “Uh, wait, hold on…” He began rummaging about in his large brown cloth coat. “Can you give him this?” He pulled out a weathered brown newsboy hat.

Wendyl reached out to grab it, hesitated, but snatched it out of Stan’s hand regardless. “I hope that you’ll keep this exchange between the two of us?”

Stan’s eyes widened nervously. “Oh, um, I’ll try… but… I’m **pretty**  sure anyone, especially Marjorine, could hear us if they were standing in the other room.”

A muffled voice came from behind one of the walls. “Oh gosh! Was I supposed to not hear that?” A door slamming open, and a panicked Marjorine stumbled out beyond the closet door. “I-I’m sorry fellas, ever since I started this metalbending thing metal’s stopped blocking sound for me…”

Wendyl was practically hunched over, an incredibly annoyed glare in his eyes staring at Marjorine. “…I’m going to leave now. Thank you for the hat.” He walked past Stan and the blonde. He nodded unenergetically when Stan nodded with a bright smile. “I’ll… Lord Thorn will be expecting you tonight.” He exited the shop.

Marjorine put a hand on Stan’s shoulder. “You can take the day off, Stan. You’ll probably need it so you have enough time to get ready.”

Meanwhile, in the castle on the edge of the town, another man was getting ready. Due to a month of work with manure, the smell of feces and other nostril clogging scents had surrounded the blond. He was encouraged to take multiple baths in order to rid himself of the stench. But to skip all the drama he was allowed access to the biggest bath of the place, the king's personal one.

Pip exited the round bath, and looked at it curiously. This place seemed a little too Old English to have reliable plumbing, but it was here nonetheless. A showerhead, a faucet, even a hot and cold setting came installed for the elaborate stone bucket of a bath.

He looked around the room. It was a pretty fine bathroom, well, for Medieval times he supposed. Seemed a tad large for one person though. A large mirror reflected most of the room, giving the illusion of it being twice as large. It showed off the bath, toilet and sink in the corner, double door entrance, and all of the other accessories that hung around. One little, tiny, minor inconvenience though. Barely noticeable. No towels.

He scratched the back of his neck. He guessed it wasn’t that much of an issue. While it wasn’t his restroom, he could still dry off "Au Naturel" in his alone time. He only had to get ready until dinner was done, and the sun hadn't even set after all. He shrugged.

Most of the floor was made of smooth stone, so he certainly wouldn't make a mess if he just a little wet. Better to pick out the clothes in the other room now than later. At least that was the thought that went through his head as he opened the double doors. But the thought became wildly insignificant as he noticed the man standing directly in front of them.

“O-Oh my! Damien!” Pip’s body cowered, attempting to cover his decency. Why did he have to open the double doors with both hands? “W-what are you doing here?”

The Antichrist had a neutral expression to him. “Getting you fitted, of course. If the only highest royal etiquette male’s dinner clothes available are mine, then I’m not letting you choose anything carelessly.”

“You mean you didn’t…” Pip glanced to the side. “…Didn’t expect me to have a towel on?”

Damien arched an eyebrow, curious. “Towel? …Oh, I see. My deepest apologizes. As the spawn of Satan, the blood that flows through me is filled with the cries from thousands of tortured souls." He tightened his fist somewhat dramatically. "This gives me quite the control over hellfire. As you can imagine, a piece of cloth is often unnecessary for drying myself. I'll demonstrate.”

He raised his hand towards Pip. The blond felt a tingling sensation across his body. His hair felt lighter and it seemed to soften up. After a second had passed it stopped, and he examined himself. He was dried off. Pip realized what examining with two hands meant, then quickly hunched over to cover himself again. He chuckled.

Damien dismissed him. “Oh, don’t bother. It’s not like I care anyway. If you’d follow me.” He walked over to one of the wooden closets and opened it, revealing a decent variety of clothes. Noticing Pip still standing behind the doorway, he motioned for him to come over with a decently sized pair of bloomers.

Pip hesitantly agreed. He quickly shuffled over and grabbed the undergarments Damien held out, put it on, and breathed a sigh of relief. It was a tad tight on him, though.

Damien shook his head. “I don’t see why that would make it better, your appearance is practically the same.”

“I suppose you’re right. I guess I’ve been taught to feel comfortable with them on around others?” He chuckled. Pip followed Damien’s hand rummaging through his closet. He had an awfully large amount of reds and blacks in his closet. “I’ll take that one." Pip pointed.

Damien turned to him, glaring like it was an order. Fire seemed to trickle in his eyes.

Pip worryingly raised his eyebrows. "Uh, if you don’t mind, that is?” Damien nodded slowly and pulled out the black jacket with a white undershirt. The white undershirt had a red collar. It reminded Pip of a bowtie. It came with long white stockings and black shoes.

Pip slowly managed to put on the dress clothes. He could work around the smaller size of the Antichrist's wardrobe, but the stare coming from the man seemed to fill the room with an uncomfortable aura. Damien seemed to be mindlessly curious with Pip like a cat was with a new toy.

Pip finished putting on the clothes when he heard a knocking, then a creaking at the door. “I’ve invited Marsh, my lord. Do you know where Pirrup-? Oh, I see.” Wendyl entered the room and walked to the formally dressed brit, and plopped a hat on his head. “You’ll be needing this.”


	13. Feast Your Eyes

“Alright. Now that I’ve given you all the details, you should be ready for the dinner. Am I right?”

Pip nodded. He and Damien stood before the two giant wooden doors that blocked the main hall they first met at. It had been an hour or two since Pip had been fully dressed, but Damien was determined to explain everything behind the circumstances of the dinner to him.

Every month or two, Damien invites any leaders or ambassadors from near to distant kingdoms. But there are no outright discussions on politics. It’s supposed to be a completely neutral situation. Well, except for Damien of course. The more generous and hospitable he came across, the more trustworthy his kingdom seemed to be after all.

Damien had spent most of the time telling Pip all the formalities one could and should do there. He had listened intently to everything Damien had said, albeit fuzzily now that he thinks about it. What was distracting him? He only looked at Damien. Pip supposed it didn't matter anyway, he didn't even bother to tell Damien about all the gentleman training he got as an English orphan. Truth be told, from the snippets he remembered Damien talk about they were practically the same lessons, with minor differences. It was probably Damien’s respectful tone that made Pip so eager to try to pay attention. Yeah, his tone, that's it.

Damien raised his hand and gestured to one of the “guards” and they began to push the doors. Wendyl stepped quickly stepped beyond the doors. “Presenting his majesty, King Thorn.”

Damien calmly walked past Wendyl and made his way to the throne at the end of the room. The throne room was different from when Pip last visited. A long table had replaced the long carpet and the candelabras had been pushed to the walls. Numerous amounts of people who sat at the table stood up in respect, albeit hesitantly, for the land's royalty in the room.

Pip stared at Damien walk, cape fluttering with his steps. He looked so regal and refined, almost breathtaking if Pip didn't know bett- "Oof." Pip looked away from Damien as he felt an elbow nudge him in the side.

“Did you forget, Pirrup?”

Pip looked to Wendyl, who looked back with a worrisome twinge in his eye.

“Respected subordinates have their own seats at the dinner.” Wendyl said slowly.

Pip blinked. How long had he been staring? Oh dear.

The two made their way to their seats as Damien finished crossing the room. On his raised platform he motioned for everyone to sit down. “I must thank all of you for coming. Once again, you’ve been invited to congratulate you or your kingdom on the successes that benefit the public of ours or others kingdoms. Please eat the varieties of birds, breads, and other expected foods prepared for your meal tonight.” He lifted up a grail and gestured it towards the audience to signal the beginning of the feast. He sat in his throne and placed his grail on a small table next to it, his meal waiting.

Pip noticed a few angry glares directed at Damien once he finished the speech. Pip leaned in to whisper to Wendyl sitting next to him. “Is there something wrong with them?”

Wendyl nodded. “No." He gave a second look. "...Ah, yes, that. Unfortunately there’s a lot to hate about Lord Thorn. His stubbornness politically, how he took this kingdom, how he made magic so open to the public…the Antichrist part. It’s mostly the Antichrist part.

“Oh, yes. Some people would have quite the trouble with that, wouldn’t they?” He scratched the back of his neck and looked to his side. Empty seats scattered the table, including two next to himself. “Not everyone has made it, I assume?”

Wendyl leaned over and spotted the two empty chairs beyond Pip. “Hmm. Looks like the Elven king declined again.” She paused as her eyes narrowed. “And… Marsh as well?”

“Excuse me…” Pip and Wendyl turned to a man at the other side of the table. He seemed to be staring at Pip. “I could not help but notice… But your outfit is bizarrely familiar. Do you come to these often? I don't recognize your face.”

Pip looked down to his outfit. “Oh, this? Damien was oh so nice and loaned it to me. I’m his newest subordinate here.”

“So King Thorn **is** sharing clothing with men of the castle!?” A man right of the first one had both his knuckles whitening against the table. “I remember that outfit was on him the first time I came here. Scandalous. This might be the most scandalous thing he’s ever been involved with!”

The first man raised his eyebrow in curiosity. “You mean… minus the son of Satan bit?”

“Oh yeah, of course. That’s bad too.”

Pip leaned back towards Wendyl. “Didn’t Damien say they were here because of great deeds?”

Wendyl shrugged. “Great deeds for the public, usually. It varies. There isn’t supposed to be any large scale politics here. That doesn’t stop people from making excuses to insult Lord Thorn.”

Pip grabbed one of the drinks to check its content. “You know Wendyl, I hadn’t thought about it before, but why does Damien wish to be called a Lord? Aren’t Lords supposed to be under Kings?”

Wendyl cut off a pheasant leg and onto his plate. “It depends. Most of the time it works, because most people aren’t kings. A lord usually refers to someone above your status. You'll find that’s why I had to announce him as King Thorn today.”

Pip politely grabbed a slice of bread and buttered it. “Oooh, there’s royalty like that here today?”

“Do not get your hopes up.” He took a sip of wine. “Between the two of us, many of them aren’t very good leaders. But…” He winked to Pip. “They’re good for trade.”

“That’s something, I suppose.” He chuckled to himself. “I’ve always had great expectations of others, I guess.”

The creaking of wood drew their attentions. At the end of the hall the doors opened slightly to let a man in. He stood and looked for where he was supposed to go. After one of the guards pointed to where Pip and Wendyl were sitting, his face brightened up and he walked over to them.

“Pip! You’re all right!” Stan approached the blond and patted him on the back. “How’re you doing man?”

“Stanley! It’s oh so nice to see you. You’re here too?” He hugged him back.

“Yeah, I was invited. But it looks like you’ve been here longer than me, huh?” Stan rubbed his chin in an exaggerated motion. Pip rubbed his chin curiously, he didn’t seem to have noticed the stubble present from the last time they met.

“Marsh, what are you doing?” Stan looked beyond Pip to see Wendyl staring at him, stunned. “You’re in the same clothes from when I invited you. Is that all you have?”

“Oh, uh, sorry. I stayed at Marjorine’s house to finish the renovations she hired me for. I finished just before I left for here.”

Pip clapped his hands together. “How thoughtful of you, Stanley.”

Wendyl tilted his head confusingly. While he remembered Stan as a mostly good-hearted person, he was never an overly generous one. Something wasn’t right here. His eyebrows furrowed as, on top of his confusion, the light sound of clanking metal heavily muffled came to him.

He looked over to see Stan still engaging Pip in a half hug. But what caught his attention was what was in one of his hands. As he hugged Pip, Stan’s left hand came out in front of the blond. In the hand’s grip was the handle to a bright red metal box.

Wendyl’s eyes widened the moment he realized what it could be. Stunned into silence, only one thought occupied his mind. It repeated over and over again, and it didn’t matter how or when.

He needed to know what was in that toolbox.


	14. An Explosive Encounter

“Wendy! Er, Wendyl, you okay?”

Wendyl blinked a couple of times to the sound of snapping fingers and his name. He had blanked out while staring at Stan Marsh’s toolbox, and was caught. Again. He nodded nervously, but couldn’t avoid the worried look Stan gave him.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You seem a little… off.”

“I…” Wendyl shook his head and covered his forehead with hand. That was one too many times he was caught staring. He had to make something up. “I have to admit, something has been troubling me…” If only he could think of something to make up. “…And because it’s a matter not involving either of you, I’ll let Lord Thorn be aware of my concerns now.”

He stood up and looked to the side, attempting to ignore the curious glances in his direction. As he quickly approached the throne, he saw Damien’s gaze morph to one of mild disappointment.

Stan leaned closer to Pip. “Huh. Well, anyway, like I was saying. Did you notice people here kinda talk like you did in grade school?”

Damien arched his eyebrow. “It is this hard for you to socialize with Marsh?”

“I have some concerns I’d like to express-”

“YOU have concerns?” Damien looked unimpressed. “The spawn of the dark lord must trifle with his highest subordinate’s relationship problems, it will pale in comparison.”

Wendyl sighed. “…Perhaps, my lord. But I must tell you this now.” He leaned in. “I have reason to believe that Marsh’s tools are otherworldly. And to an extent, Marsh himself.”

“Really. And what has convinced your mortal mind of this?” Damien took a sip of wine.

“The Home Depot logo on the side of the bright red metal toolbox he keeps his tools in, my lord”

A small spray of liquid exited the Antichrist’s mouth. An instant of wide eyes and shock dashed across his face, but he quickly regained his composure and swallowed the beverage. “Well. This is of my interests after all.” He readjusted his collar. “…MCCORMICK!”

A sudden clanking of metal could be heard from one side of the room. A knight with frog-mouth helmet quickly dropped his flirty conversation with the woman next to him and jogged his way to the throne. The clanking continued until he reached the throne, where put his two feet together and saluted with a hand on the side of his helmet. “Yusph sher!”

Damien ignored the muffled language of the man and leaned in to whisper. “Now listen closely. You see that carpenter over there, the one people call Marsh?” He paused to give the knight enough time to look. “Good. As of now he’s invited to stay here at the castle. But I would not ever take someone away from their work if they were trustworthy. Go and make it that he needs to repair something of ours. Make sure it’s complex enough for a week’s worth of work.”

The knight awkwardly nodded his head, then saluted again. “Wrigh ughwey fyor bahjshy!” He walked off the platform and made his way to one of the exits in the walls. Damien could hear a muffled chuckle escape his helmet.

Damien looked to Wendyl. “His tools will be easily traceable if they are from where you think they are.” He put a hand over his mouth and muttered something to himself. He seemed worried.

Meanwhile at the long table, a couple of people’s looked with concern at the argument between two men unfolding.

“What do you mean that’s why you all bullied me during grade school?!” Pip was taken aback by something, and it seemed to be directed at Stan.

“I don’t know! We just thought you were faking it for attention or something!”

“Stanley, why would I be faking an English accent if I was an English transfer student???”

“I-I don’t-Look. We were stupid kids whose only British experience was Mary Poppins. We thought that you were too close to that to be for real.”

“But over an accent of all things, Stanley?”

“I mean… you did do a lot of other British things. Only drinking tea, eating crumpets, and, well… you had the exact same name as that Charles Dickens’ book character, right?”

Pip huffed a little. “I get that enough, Stanley. That’s just a coincidence. I mean, yes, I did once date a rich girl named Estella living with a strange old lady, and I lived with my older sister and her husband, and I… there has to be something else you disliked about me.”

“Well, maybe one thing…that smelly outfit you wore…”

“The orphanage only had enough money for one pair of clothes per child, did no one know this?”

Stan sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “We didn’t. Because we didn’t bother to learn more about you, really.” He looked down disappointedly “…I’m sorry for all the things we did to you. We shouldn’t have done that and you didn’t deserve us doing that to you.”

Pip staggered a little from taking another drink of tea. “That’s… awfully considerate of you Stanley.” A small smile appeared on his face. “Thank you.”

The two got distracted by the clanking of metal entering the room again. It looked like that knight from earlier had finished whatever he was told to do.

Damien opened his arms to the noisy man as he reached the throne. “Quick as I expected, McCormick. You were successful, I take it?”

The knight once again awkwardly nodded his head. “Mmmph hmph!”

Damien nodded as well. “Now what did you task our carpenter with? I’ve decided to tell him myself. You may be as specific as you want.”

The knight took a step back, as if something had gone wrong. “…phuh?”

Damien had gotten distracted by the sound of more feet crossing the room. A servant had entered from one of the exits on the wall, and was walking to the throne. When she arrived, she immediately faced Damien. “My lord, I have unfortunate news.”

“What is it?”

“Someone has snuck into your bed chambers and smashed all your furniture, my lord.”

The Antichrist immediately shut his eyes. The knight tried to stutter a series of words out, but was incomprehensible due to addition of fear on top of the helmet. Damien slowly turned his head to the man. He opened his eyes and a cold, icy death glare pierced the man. “McCormick.”

The knight led out a small yelp and tripped over as he tried turning around. Damien calmly stood up. The sound of metal loudly clanging against each other filled the room as McCormick struggled to stagger up, then sprinting over to the side of the platform. Damien calmly began to walk down its stairs. The knight clumsily jumped off the platform and was practically falling over himself as he tried to head to the exit. Damien calmly followed.

Pip and Stan watched uneasily. Once the knight made it past the large exits of the room, a shuffling could be heard before a knocking. It sounded like the man hit a dead end at a locked door. Stan’s eyes widened as he saw Damien’s arms start to smoke as he entered behind the man.

Suddenly everybody at the feast death gripped something close to them as the room shook with the ferocity of an earthquake. The sudden burst of smoke and debris from the exit of the room signaled the explosion that happened only nearby. Out of the smoke came Damien, his arms smoking much denser than the rest of his body. Wendyl quickly ran behind him with a scroll.

“Make sure you collect his armor, he’ll need it for when he comes back tomorrow.”

“That’s why people call him the mostly invincible McCormick, my lord.”

Stan gulped as he noticed Damien was walking towards him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smart, Stan. Smart.


	15. Out, Damned Spot!

“I apologize for the disturbance.” Damien politely bowed.

“Uh, thanks but…” Stan eyed the smoky wreck nervously. “Should I really be the one you’re apologizing to dude?”

Damien narrowed his eyes. “…Hmm, dude.” He shook his head. “Mccormick will be fine, he was cursed since childhood. Almost impossible to kill.” He scratched his forehead. “More impossible to be taught manners, unfortunately. Immortality brings great immaturity.”

“Oh, yeah. That was a thing he talked about, didn’t he?”

Damien frowned. “You are a friend of his? Most knights are too occupied with tasks or training to befriend carpenters. …Or in McCormick’s case whoring himself to others.”

Stan shrugged. “Well, when we were kids, at least. Definitely sounds like him though, heh.”

Damien sighed. “Yes, I came to request your services. My castle is in need of some builders.”

Stan looked behind Damien. “Uh… yeah. Never would’ve guessed.”

“Specifically.” Damien raised his eyebrow with a hint of annoyance. “To my bedchambers. McCormick is quite reckless. You may start in the morning if you’d spend the night here.”

“Oh, sure! That’s fine with me. Good thing Marjorine’s restroom was the last thing I had this week. …Hey wait by bedchambers you don’t mean furniture cause-“

“Testaburger will show you the way to your bedchambers now.” Damien turned to Pip. “He’ll also show you you’re room as well, Pirrup. You are done eating, correct?”

Pip let off a smile. “Of course Damien. I’m oh so looking forward to seeing my room.”

Wendyl stepped in front of Damien and bowed. “If you’ll follow me.”

While the scuffing of two chairs went on, Damien grabbed Wendyl’s shoulder and pulled him to the side, away from a couple of the judging glares and earshot of the guests. “With my bedchambers destroyed I’ll stay in one of the guest rooms, please see to it.”

Wendyl’s eyes widened and eyebrows raised. “Ah… A-Are you sure you want to do that my lord? I’m sure there are enough spare locked bedchambers in the castle.”

Damien raised an eyebrow. “The guest rooms are always prepared, I see no reason to not use them. Any other bedchambers are for guests, and not the special ones.” He started to turn back to the throne, but stopped once he heard Wendyl speak up again.

“A-Are you sure you wouldn’t want to reconsider? I would gladly give up mine. They are in a rather isolated part of the castle, and are close to your daily duties as well. And ah…” He nervously tapped against the scroll he was writing in. Damien narrowed his eyes.  
“Are you saying my ability to protect myself is inadequate?” He stepped uncomfortably closer to Wendyl. “I need no lock, even in a place as accessible as the guest rooms. Show them to their rooms now.”

Wendyl noticed the intensity off of his voice and swallowed. “Yes, my lord.” He turned back to Stan and Pip and motioned for them to start walking. They walked to the large doors in the front, since the other exit to the guest rooms was suffering from massive burns. As they made their way through the doors, Wendyl made one worrisome look back into the room. He sighed as he saw Damien sit back in his throne and assume his natural position, leaning his head on his fist.

“What was that all about?” Stan asked as Wendyl nodded to the two guards to the hallway.

“I do hope Damien isn’t in any danger…” Pip muttered just loud enough for them to hear.

Wendyl sighed. “Well… Yes and no.” They entered through a small entrance to a smaller hallway. It was reasonably plain, with 5 doors on each wall. “This is the guest hallway.”

Pip looked curiously down the hallway. “You mean… like the one downstairs?”

Wendyl staggered a little. “Uh, no. That’s more like… a… trainee quarters. Yes.”

“Trainee quarters? What were you doing there Pip?” Stan quickly questioned.

Wendyl quickly stepped in front of Stan. “That’s more of a private practice we-“

“I’m going to be a prized subordinate Stanley, isn’t it wonderful?” Pip chimed in.

“Subordinate? Here? But, Pip! What about-“ Stan’s expression blankened. He glanced at Wendyl nervously. “…Um. Your old job? Didn’t you get yourself like this just for that?”

Pip tilted his head. “My old job…? Oh! That. Um, well. The funny thing is Stanley…” He put his arm over Stan’s shoulder and got privately close to him. He whispered. “I actually got kicked out of the dodgeball league a week before I visited you. Too strong for the sport apparently. I suppose singlehandedly knocking out the champion team was what did it. They tested me and didn’t find anything off in me, but were convinced I couldn’t legally play anyway. I got a universal ban from sports. At least it was fun while it lasted…”

“Oh man. …I’m, I’m sorry to hear that, Pip.” He stepped away and looked around. “So you’re saying… you’d be fine being here? You’re sure?”

Pip nodded. “I don’t really know where I’d go, that’s the problem. But being here… It feels quite nice actually. It feels like I’m welcomed.”

Silence engulfed the hallway. Wendyl blinked and glanced back and forth. He coughed in a fist. “…Well, that’s good to hear.” He put his hands together and tapped his foot. He seemed to have trouble deciding what he was going to say next. “I’m going to give you both a warning.” He checked that no one was in the hallway. “With no locks on the doors, Lord Thorn might wander around the hallway.”

Pip’s smile fell and his mouth opened up a little. “… He might what?”

Wendyl looked up for the right words. “Well, he seems to be suffering from sleep walking. It started about half a month ago. A couple of the servants noticed him walking through the halls, murmuring to himself. What was strange was that he was rubbing his hands together as if they were dirty with something. One of them told me they thought they heard him say something about manure. But when they walked past him, he seemed to be in a trance. He didn’t notice either of them and kept rubbing his hands. This went on for a couple of days, so we locked his door from the outside. I know it’s still been going on, because some of the servants told me they heard faint noises coming from his room at night. So if he starts walking around… don’t freak out, alright? This hallway is going to be locked.”

Pip nodded understandingly, in contrast to Stan’s cautious one. “I do hope he gets better.”

Wendyl let out a puff of air. “You should. You two are the ones dealing with it for a week. Here are the keys to your rooms, the number to the room is on the key. Good night.” He calmly walked away and exited the hallway.

Stan’s eyes widened in realization. “H-Hey wait I still don’t know how to make furni-!”

He stopped when he heard the door shut.


	16. Behind Closed Curtains

Pip looked out the window. It was dark now, and much of the town had started to retire. With the dinner being over for several hours, he saw that, one by one, most of the carriages had left to return to their own kingdoms. Not all though. While he hadn’t left the room since he and a particularly worried Stanley said good night, he heard some of the rooms in the hallway open for several other guests. He wondered from time to time which one of them could have been Damien. He had quite hoped Wendyl had informed the other guests about Damien’s sleeping habits.

Looking closely at the room Pip felt a little air of nostalgia hit him. It had been quite some time since he ever slept in such nice conditions. As a child he was always worried of being perceived as a commoner, he was so happy when he supposedly struck it lucky. The richest people, houses, and living standards were all presented before him because of his kindness to one man. He chuckled. It was funny really, he had hoped to be better than a commoner and, in the end, came out worse. Abandoned and orphaned in America dropped him into miserable living conditions, inevitably up to his dying day. He certainly knew appreciation for what one had when he came back. He had finally gotten a decent standard of living again after a dodgeball coach eased his troubles.

The room had all the basic necessities. Drawers and closets for clothing, a couple of tables and some books for reading or writing, and even a functioning restroom like Damien’s. He did notice the bed was a tad large when sat on it, though. He was glad to find neatly prepared clothes in the drawers, especially the sleeping attire.

He twirled the key he was given between his fingers. The people at the castle had quite the sense of humor to them, giving a key to a door without a lock. He shrugged before putting it down on the bedside table. Finally he laid down and closed his eyes. With sleep inevitable, his brain tried to distract and delay the time it had. Thoughts about today and what everything meant bounced around in his head, until finally ending at the door. Some doors were just supposed to stay unlocked he figured, it didn’t matter how much one wanted them closed or how many keys someone had, a lock wasn’t going to materialize anytime soon.

The drowsiness of the dark grew subtly heavier, until Pip finally fell asleep.

As the darkness began to fully encompass the land around the castle, so too did the inside. Candles among other things were quietly put out, allowing the stillness of the night to echo through the halls of the castle. Except for one sound though.

A light, slow tapping of feet could be heard, with the occasional inaudible mumble to go with it. A inky black figure stumbled through a single hallway, back and forth and back and forth. The doors on each side of the hallway had already been tested. It wasn’t going to be leaving anytime soon. It stumbled haphazardly more as the hours passed, until finally its abrupt stop. It turned and faced one of the walls. It walked forward through the door and into one of the guest rooms.

Damien blinked and staggered forward a bit. He observed his surroundings. It was the guest room he was occupying, albeit very dark. He was next to the bed. He shook his head and rubbed his forehead. It happened again. He’d just start to sit on his bed, then suddenly he’d blacken out. The next thing he knew he’d be standing next to his bedside, even more tired than he felt the first time. It was almost as if he never had sat down, had he been working for too many long hours too cause such problems? Damien grunted. He hated things about him not under his control. He couldn’t think about anything now, he was too tired all of the sudden, once again. He pushed aside the bed curtains and laid down, shuffling to find the right position for sleep.

As his eyes slowly drifted together, he heard a noise. It was another shuffling similar to his. He opened his eyes in curiosity, surely his guest room walls were better sound preserving than that? It was unfortunate that his brain was drunk with sleep deprivation. Before he could think of an explanation he heard a faint sigh.

His eyes widened as he felt two arms quickly wrap around him.

Startled, Damien immediately let fire out of his palms, coming dangerously close to starting a roaring fire in the guest rooms. Thank goodness his arms shot out in shock from the hold. He froze as he heard a light sound next to his ear. The flames on his hands died down until no more light was in the room again. Damien listened to the light snore intrigued. Heat returned to his hands, and a glow emanated from them as he shifted just enough to look behind his back.

He lifted his hand to find his capturer, before he could punish. His hand revealed a peacefully sleeping blond, mouth slightly agape for the polite snoring.

“Puh-… Pirrup!?” Damien whispered between clenched teeth. He shifted again to face away, letting the luminescence of his hands die off. How did this happen? This was his room, wasn’t it? He shook his head. There was only one thing that mattered now. He had to get out of his guest’s grip.

He shuffled back and forth. No use. The man’s grip didn’t come close to faltering. He had heard of people being stronger than they looked, but his was ridiculous. As much as the thought passed through his mind, punishment all of the sudden seemed like a poor decision. He frustratingly sighed to himself. It made as much sense to his tired brain as anything could. It wasn’t exactly like Pirrup was doing this on purpose, and Damien didn’t even check to make sure he was in his bed for the first part. He was curious at his inability to want to hurt the man.

He would have to wait. Stall him out and escape. Pirrup would have to loosen his grip eventually. If he left undetected there would be no explanations needed, as if nothing happened. 

Damien silently waited. The position he was in made his head rest against the pillow on the end of the bed. He blinked a couple of times. He was dead tired, but surely the stamina given to him by his Antichrist blood and demon powers would keep him awake long enough to leave the blond’s grip?

It didn’t.

The etching rays of the sun slowly crept into the room, until it fully illuminated the bedchambers. Morning made itself known, but was ignored by anything in the room. A calming silence hovered over, just as it had for most of the night. In a flash it was broken with the sound of a swinging door. Wendyl practically jumped into the room.

“Pirrup, get up. Lord Thorn is missing an-“ He froze, eyes wide open in shock. Inside the bed was Pirrup and Lord Thorn, asleep with arms wrapped around each other.

Wendyl dashed away from the bed, nearly falling over himself as he ran out the door. He slammed it with a wince, realizing how much noise he made. One of the servants in the hallway, surprised, walked over.

“Is there something wrong, Sir Testaburger?”

“I… I know where Lord Thorn is…”


	17. Better Throw the Blanket Over This Scandal

Damien murmured to himself groggily. Whispering echoes of noise steadily became louder in his ears. Damien tried to bury himself in the bedding before him to ignore what was waking him up. Instead of muffling out the creeping noises though it produced a sharp new sound, like a faint gasp. Damien cracked his eyes open slowly.

“Damien… Damien? Oh! Uh, you’re awake. …Good morning?”

Damien blinked. The world around him seemed blurred together as he came to his senses. Unfortunately his eyes quickly burst open once fully gained consciousness.

He had just discovered that the pillow he had his arms wrapped around was not in fact a pillow, but a larger blond man. And also he may or may not have just unknowingly nuzzled the chest of said blond man.

Needless to say Damien made a sound that could only be described as a choking Chihuahua as he launched himself backwards off the bed. He landed back first onto the ground and quickly rolled himself up to stand.

“PIRRUP!” Damien’s face seared with heat. His eye twitched as his body shook. “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING!?”

“I-I believe I was sleeping. I’m oh so sorry if that offended you.”

“OFFEND-“ He clutched his fists together and grit his teeth. “Tell me what went through that head when you decided to sleep in my bed.”

Pip narrowed his eyes. “I don’t quite think the thought ever crossed me. Is this… not my room?”

Damien let out heavy breaths to calm himself down. He rubbed his forehead. “WHY…” He closed his eyes in frustration. “…Why would I do that?” Damien opened his eyes again to the sound of a door opening. He saw Wendyl enter the room.

Wendyl entered cautiously, directly to Damien. He gulped in hesitation. “My lord, I have unfortunate news for you.”

“What?” Damien said behind clenched teeth.

“This is actually Pirrup’s room, you’ve been sleepwalking for half a month, and we locked your halls but never told you because we found out you sleep in the nude.”

Damien eyes widened and he twitched again. His face drained of color for a moment before he shook his head. He slowly put his hands on his hips. Damien was now aware of the slight breeze that drafted through the room.

Pip rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, Damien, on the bright side I was wearing two layers of pajama pants.” He let out a light chuckle and a hopeful smile.

Damien pinched the bridge of his nose, and let his hand move and curl into a fist inches away from his face. “Get out.”

Pip blinked. “Oh, of course. You are the king and whatnot.” He pulled the covers off him. …You wouldn’t mind if I took a minute to put a shirt on though, would you?”

Damien pointed to the door. “Get out of this room. Now.”

Pip nodded. “Right-o.” He walked out of the room and shut the door behind him. He staggered a little at the small crowd gathered around the room.

Stan walked out of the crowed. “Hey Pip… Uh, Do you need to borrow a shirt from my room?”

Wendyl rubbed his temple as the Antichrist covered himself in the bedsheets of the guest bed. “I’ll dismiss everyone from the hallway so you may get to your room.” He headed to the door, but stopped when he heard the snapping of fingers.

Damien motioned for Wendyl to come before him. “No. There’s something else I want done. And I want it done today.”

Wendyl narrowed his eyes. “And what would that be my lord?”

“I want everyone out of this castle by tomorrow. You may dismiss everyone under me away from their jobs here. Except for Pirrup.”

Wendyl’s eyes widened. “You- …You have to be joking, right my lord? You’re going to fire everyone to be alone with that man? Then what was that earlier? Or…” His eyes narrowed again. “Are you planning on doing something to him nonpublically?”

Damien furrowed his eyebrows. “He said he was destined to be a king’s greatest subordinate, didn’t he?” He glared when Wendyl nodded. “Then if he’s my only subordinate, he’s my best. Is he not?”

Wendyl scratched his chin. “I… I mean yes, that does make sense. But don’t you think that’s a little drastic my lord?”

Damien shook his head. “No. Don’t mess with destinies. It’s a hell worse than the one I was born in. If it’s not ended it spirals into insanity, everyone suffers for it.” He rubbed his forehead. “I’ll deal with him for one day and then he will leave. His destiny will have been fulfilled and I don’t have to greet him again.”

Wendyl looked to the left and right. “And… what about me?”

Damien sighed. “Yes, tomorrow you will be not be a subordinate of mine. Don’t think that means you’ll be able to escape my influence though. The very next day I expect everyone to come back to join again.”

“Right. I’ll make sure to keep that in mind.” He let out a puff of air. “I’ll go tell the people in the hallway to spread the word. …And again, dismiss them so you may get dressed.” Wendyl gave out a small bow before exiting the room to the crowd.

He told them what was happening quickly, making sure to elaborate that everyone was allowed to come back the next day, but they might have different jobs. He noticed Pip and Stan weren’t in the crowd. They must have gone to Stan’s room.

Once the crowd began to disperse, along with its murmurings, Wendyl frowned at the door behind him. Damien certainly dreaded spending any time with Pirrup all of the sudden. It was definitely made clear that Pirrup had nothing to do with the situation, Damien simply wandered into their on accident.

…Unless he was worried about something else. He certainly seemed shocked when he found out he was the one who came to Pirrup. The possibility of something unconscious pushing him towards Pirrup didn’t… frighten him did he? Damien had never been one for relationships, but that didn’t justify his reasoning, right? Sure he had just slept naked with Pirrup against his consent for a whole night and-actually wait, no, Wendyl just answered his own question.


	18. This Better Not Be Overdue

Wendyl knocked on the door. After the crowd had fully dispersed and the lord had retreated to his new bedchambers, he felt he should personally inform the two guests to what was happening.

A muffled shuffling came behind the wood and it swung inwards. A man in a large dark brown coat came out.

“Oh h-hey Wendyl! Are you looking for Pip? He’s here if you’re looking for him.”

Wendyl leaned a little to look past Stan into the room. He saw a tall blond man rummaging through one of the shelves. He seemed hesitant to take anything though.

“Well, yes and no. But I’m here today to tell you that I will not be here tomorrow. And subsequently you won’t be here either, but not Pirrup.”

Stan raised his eyebrows. “Oh Jesus, did something happen?” He paused before glancing back and forth. Then whispered “ … Besides the obvious?”

“As I assume you’re aware your friend is currently foretold to fulfill a prophecy. Lord Thorn has decided to cut to the chase and make it fulfilled before any major catastrophes could happen. This means that he has fired all workers under him except for Pirrup, he’ll be spending the entire day with Lord Thorn tomorrow.”

Stan blinked. “Just… the two of them? Alone? Why would that make Pip’s prophecy come true? That doesn’t make any sense-“ He hesitated. His pupils shrunk from the new echoing thought in his mind. If Pip’s prophecy were to become a king, he’d probably have a tough time getting there. Being so kind and shy would make it quite difficult to overthrow a ruler. Unless… said ruler felt that they didn’t need to step down for another king to be present. “Oh.”

Wendyl narrowed his eyes. “Is there a problem?”

Stan shook his head. “W-well, I guess I just didn’t expect it to happen like this. Heh heh, uh, good for him?” He shrugged.

Wendyl raised an eyebrow. “If you can call it good. But nonetheless everyone will be gone for one day, and then can come back tomorrow for work. You may think of it as a day off before you get to work on Lord Thorn’s room. Pirrup’s room is free now.”

Wendyl nodded and turned from the door, expecting Stan to relay the news to Pip. He staggered once he felt a hand land on his shoulder.

“Hey, wait a minute. Oh, oops. Sorry.” Stan muttered out the last if his sentence as Wendyl hesitantly faced him. “Uh, I’ve got this problem with building this Damien guy’s room. I don’t really know how to build furniture. Could you help me look up how to do it in a library or something?”

Wendyl lightly bit his lip. “You need help? You’re obliged to copy the original design to make it easier.”

“Yeah, but I’ve only done walls, floors, and roofs. You guys know there’s a big difference between house repair and furniture making right?”

“Yes, it may have been of the moment.” He rubbed his forehead. “But you currently have the best kind of tools for woodwork. I’m pretty sure a little research will let you get the hang of it.” Wendyl crossed his arms. “What makes you think I would be helpful in researching furniture building?”

“Well you always-“ Stan froze, then he looked to the side and scratched the back of his neck. “Y-you just look like the kind of person who knows how to look up stuff.”

That did it. Whatever the intent of his original sentence was going to be, Wendyl had to know what it meant. He sighed. “I suppose since I’m not busy I will have the time to help you. Since there are no guards tomorrow we’ll be allowed to enter the castle library. Most people won’t come due to fear being punished by the Lord. But as long as we aren’t truly working under him it’s fine.”

“Hey that’s great! Tomorrow then?” Stan let out his hand to shake.

Wendyl stared at the hand. He begrudgingly grabbed and shook it. “Yes. Tomorrow.”

“Stanley? Is something the matter out there?”

Stan turned to look inside the room. “Don’t worry Pip, you don’t need to borrow one of those guests shirts. Your room’s free now.” He nodded to Pip pointing at the clothes, saying are you sure? “Yeah, don’t worry I’ll tell you before you get to your room.” He turned back to Wendyl and smiled. “See you later.”

Wendyl blankly stared as the door closed behind Stan. He blinked as he heard more muffled voices behind the door. Stan must have started telling Pip about tomorrow. He shook his head. Today wasn’t a day off after all, back to work.

He left just in time to make it to the door swinging open down the hall. Damien came out, now fully dressed. “Do you wish for anything else today, my lord?”

Damien’s face opened up, but fell to a frown once he heard the door open down the hall. Both turned to the noise.

Pip cautiously exited the room, tiptoeing, but froze when he noticed both were looking at him. “Sorry about that.” Then he quickly jumped to his guest room.

Damien scratched his temple. “Teach him what he might need to know tomorrow.”

Wendyl nodded. “Understood.” He stood at attention as Damien exited the hallway.

After startling Pip at his door, Wendyl told him to follow. Then the day went on as it usually did. Wendyl went through the chores he did every day. Checking on workers, sorting rations in the castle and out, trade, etc., etc. But any moment he could he made sure to tell Pip about tips for the next day.

As the day grew dimmer the castle seemed to get more and more hollow. Just as Wendyl had expected the word of mouth was more efficient than any assembly that could have been done, and most of the servants had left already. Once he felt he was ready, he went to the front doors, shook Pip’s hand, and left.

He felt it was interesting, walking down the large bridge from the castle unattended. No obligations, no tasks, and no owners. As he approached the village, it started to rain. The sudden dampness made him realize something.

He didn’t really have a place to stay, did he?


	19. If at First You Don’t Succeed, Stop Being an Idiot

Light had crept onto the bottom of the large wall that surrounded the castle. Like every morning it rose on the stone, like a dry sponge soaking up water. Eventually it leap to pierce and slip through the cracks and holes of the castle. The windows would let light spill into any unsuspecting rooms, often clawing its way into bedrooms to indicate the beginning of a new day to anyone asleep.

And in this case, directly onto the Antichrist’s eyelids.

Damien let his eyes crack open only for an instant. The sharpness of the light forced his dulled eyes into retreat. He scrunched his face and turned to face away, tightening the covers around him. He figured he could rest a little longer than usual today, no one was supposed to come for requests or work. Except of course for one individual, but other than that it was practically a free day for him as well. He shuffled and loosened the bed sheets, letting his eyes relax.

His preparations for an after-sleep nap was interrupted however, as an ominous shade blocked the sun from his head.

Stan yawned. He rubbed his eyes as pushed the blanket to the side. With a jerk he got upright onto the side of the bed and let his legs dangle inches away from the floor. He hopped off the bed and stretched. When he was done he drooped and scratched his back, then walked to the closet to dress. He looked around the room. After he had been asked to leave for Damien’s alone time with Pip, he had begrudgingly left for his house. 

Stan hated how every morning for the past month he felt out of place there. But really, what else was he supposed to feel? Apparently this was the alternate Stan’s old parents’ house. The one he grew up in. That would explain why it was a little larger than what he expected, but it being bigger made it seem a little more hollow. He never grew up in this house. Never played, never laughed, never cried, or anything else a childhood home was supposed to be. It did look like the kind of dump his dad would buy though. 

He sighed. Once again “Why don’t I just leave?” bounced around in his head. But once again he bounced it out. There Pip to worry about of course, but now he was more focused on Wendyl. He remembered when he first used to date Wendy, and when it ended. Especially the final time it ended, at least. He noticed that this Wendyl seemed troubled. Not mentally unstable, but if one took a closer look they might have noticed that he seemed empty or regretful. Before Stan left he wanted to change that. 

Surely he would understand that’s why Stan was gone for a month. 

Wendyl stared into the grey. While it had only rained for a short time yesterday, the skies were still mostly filled with chunky dark clouds and the air still felt moist. He looked around the alleyway. He had slept sitting upright on a barrel. It really occurred to him how much he didn’t actually know the people of the town, except for Marjorine of course. 

But Marjorine seemed deathly afraid of someone sleeping in the same room as her, and she tried to recommend other households. Unfortunately the first recommendation was Stan’s house. Wendyl wondered how long Marjorine talked to a closed door after he left. He sighed, disappointed in himself. If he couldn’t even face the possibility of Stan offering shelter, how was he going to make it through a day staying around him?

He stood up and dusted off his legs. Making his way down the alley he noticed the horizon blocked by the wall he slept against had of clearing of clouds, letting the sunrise come out clearly. He frowned as he saw the castle glowing orange from the light. He’d have to face this like any other day.

Back to work.

Pip groaned. He felt colder all of the sudden. He felt around the bed. No wonder he felt cold, his blanket was gone! He must have rolled out of it during the night. This wouldn’t do. He couldn’t start cold on his day with Damien.

He sat up, light immediately blasting and engulfing him. The mornings certainly were bright. Enough to make Pip raise his arm to shield his eyes. A little dazed from the flash, he turned away to blink. As his eyes adjusted his mouth opened in pleasant surprise.

Sure enough, there was his blanket on the other of the bed. Scrunched up into a pile, facing away from the sun. Quite a large pile. A little too large. Noticing this, Pip leaned over to examine the clump of bedding. He saw a small patch of raven black peek out of the sheets. 

"…Oh! Is that you Damien? You didn’t sleep walk into my room again, did you? …Oh my. You made sure to wear pajamas last night ri-?"

"DAMNIT!"


	20. At Least Put Some Sauce On It…

Pip stood eagerly at the door, smile unmoving from his face. After Damien had once again retreated into his assigned guest room for decency, Pip quickly got changed. He hoped he dressed appropriately for the day, but he couldn’t help but chose his outfit from what was available. He was just too used to a red jacket, white undershirt, and light blue pants. Although their old designs left them loose and without buttons or other such things, he improvised a bow tie with a brown ribbon he found in the closet.

His grin widened farther as he saw the door finally begin to open. He straightened up and put his hands behind his back. “G’morning my lord, Is there anything I do for you?”

Damien came out, dressed in the outfit he wore the first day. Same black and blood red everything. He frowned. He seemed annoyed by the blond’s cheeriness. “Just follow me. I have plenty for you to do.”

Pip nodded and politely trailed behind him. A little while into them walking silently into, he started humming quietly to himself. He still kept his eyes on the back of Damien’s head though. But that did block his view of the Antichrist’s gaping mouth.

Damien couldn’t believe it. Who could be ordered by the spawn of Satan to complete a task and feel casual enough to start humming? Apparently the person behind him, that’s who. Surely his innocence couldn’t block him that much from the threat a foot from him? He shook his head. Some people just don’t become intimidated by things, that’s nature, but they should still know the dangers. “Here we are.”

Both entered through two large doors into a massive room. Piles of wooden chairs, tables, and other commoner furnishings littered the sides of the room. But in the middle one large singular table stood.

“This is the table you ate at two nights ago. It was made from a single massive tree, which is why it’s unconnected. It’s brought out every morning for breakfast then put back here every night. And there are no workers to take it out today. You do it.”

“Hmm…” Pip’s smile fell. He rubbed his chin and walked over to it. He put his hand on the table and pushed back and forth, studying its weight. His smile returned. “You can count on me, I’ll get it there in a spiffy!”

“Sure you will. Take as long as you want.” Damien left through the large doors. He didn’t close them, but halfway down the hallway smiled when he heard them close.

Damien didn’t know why, but he couldn’t help but want to retire to the throne room. Certainly everything was in order in the castle, so there wasn’t anything to check on. But he still felt like taking the long way to the throne. He let out a small chuckle. Well, the longer way, at least.

He specifically ordered for the table to be put in the farthest storage room the day before. The servants were a little peeved by this, since it took an average ten men to lift the thing. And that wasn’t counting the extras that had to keep the large doors open, since they were designed to naturally close to gravity.

Naturally it would be about dinnertime till the breakfast table would be ready, so Damien decided to go to the front for a light snack. 

After redecorating a few years ago he found little use for a large chunk of half the castle’s front. Noticing this, some traveler, experienced with restaurants and pubs, wanted to make an extra place for eating that was available to both servants and commoners. Damien agreed, but he didn’t understand why the man decided to name the new section “Ye Olde Chipotle”, it was brand new after all. But it kept up revenue and made the place a little livelier, so he didn’t complain.

He grabbed what the place refereed to as a “burrito” from the cold storage underground and continued on the scenic route. It was precooked, so he didn’t feel the need to reheat it. He walked along the edge of the castle to see out the windows to the lake, slowly munching on his substitute breakfast. He finished it just before reaching the side entrance to the throne room.

“Oh, there you are Damien! Just in time, I’m ready for your next task.”

Damien blinked. In front of him stood the blond he had intended to keep busy for a whole day on one job. “What are you doing here? I told you to-“

He paused as he finally took in all of the throne room behind Pip. Stretching nearly the entire length of the red carpet stood the large table. Damien’s eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. “Who helped you?”

Pip tilted his head. “Did I do something wrong?”

Damien’s eyebrows sharpened and he gestured to the table. “You couldn’t get that there by yourself that fast.”

Pip’s eyes fell. “But… I just… I did.” He shrugged, he couldn’t think of a thorough explanation. “I really did.”

Damien sighed. He trusted Pip, and he certainly hate how he did, but he just couldn’t risk this failing. He had to kill it at the source before it could grow out of control.

He had no choice. In order to quickly fulfill this prophecy he had to spend as much time with Pip now as possible.

“You did. Fine.” Damien straightened up. “For the rest of today I shall oversee you. You are still inexperienced and must have an eye kept on you.”

“Oh! Yes. Of course Damien.”

They both stared at each other. Pip swung his arms back and forth. Damien bit his lip and looked away. With no one else around it was awfully silent.

“…So would you like me to make you breakfast Damien?”


	21. Just Desserts

“Are you sure that’s a good idea Damien? There had to be a reason Chipotle-away was made for people’s undergarments, right?”

Damien turned to the nervous blond with a condemning look. “Lord. Thorn.” He wiped his forehead straight down to his chin, as if he could rub the annoyance off his face. “What are you talking about? No one has discussed this issue while eating here. Why would they keep coming back if they want this food gone?”

“Well I think it’s more the after eating part that’s gets people so riled up, Damien.”

Damien tensed, and he balled his hands into fists. “Just.” He let out a deep breath. “Just reheat these and you’ll make a quick breakfast. Yes?”

Pip scratched the back of his neck as he stood in front of the counter and two other burritos. He looked at the strange stone box at the far end of the counter worryingly. He and Damien both walked over to it. “Uh, yes. Of course. Let me just… hmm.”

“You don’t know how to operate it.”

“Well I suppose not, but I’ll try to squeeze through it if you want me to.”

Damien let out his palm to keep Pip quiet. “Alright. See those metal licenses on the shelf there?” He pointed above the box.

Pip looked closely. A pile of metal cards was loosely piled onto the cupboard at eye height. Well, his eye height at least. He had noticed everyone here was shorter than most people he remembered.

“Now open the side of the oven.”

Pip patted the sides of the stone oven, trying to find where it could possibly open. He let out a little gasp as the side slid out to reveal a small two-tier tray.

“Now put the cards into the tray to heat the oven.”

“You know Damien, didn’t you have that demon magic that dried me off? Cooking your own food at any time would be just smashing, wouldn’t it?”

“Stop calling me-“ He adjusted his collar. “No. That wouldn’t matter anyway. Today is for you to be my best subordinate nothing less. If I were to cook my own food now there’d be little reason for you to be here, wouldn’t there? …Also demon magic makes food dry and bitter, and no one wants that kind of hell.”

“Oh, yes I see, that makes sense.” Pip grabbed a couple of the cards to put into the tray. There certainly was a lot of space left in the trays. “There wouldn’t happen to be a guide on how many you should put in this, would there? Or do you know?”

“I’ve seen them make plenty of food in this when I requested it. I know enough about the machine from that.”

“Speaking of which, how exactly does this work?” Pip tilted his head curiously at the halfway primitive stone oven.

Damien spun his hand searching for the explanation “It’s just like licenses that you’ve already seen, but for a single purpose. These specific ones heat up the oven to cook food. Much like there are ones at the ready to keep the storage room colder or the ones we have to keep water flowing in the castle. They don’t float up when they use magic for convenience, but that means they have to be manually recharged.”

“That’s very interesting, actually. So those cards float in the air because they absorb energy in the air or something?” Pip let out a observant “hmm.” when he saw Damien nod. “… Um, you still haven’t told me how many I need Damien.”

“For the last- Fine. Just fill it as much as you can. As many cards as you can fit.”

“Oh my Damien, are you sure that’s safe?” He said while taking more cards off the shelf.

“How could you still-?!” He let out more deep breaths. “It’s an oven. It won’t matter how hot it is as long as we’re observant.” He motioned for Pip to hurry up. He obliged and quickly stuffed the trays with licenses. He closed the side and stepped over to get to the burritos. “Grab some oven mitts too, this tends to heat up quickl-“

Damien was interrupted by the force from the exploding oven that catapulted and sent him smashing through the wooden front counter. Pip hugged the wall as the massively large noise and force pushed against him.

Once it ended in a flash, Pip twisted his head toward the wreckage. His eyes spied the opening in the front desk. He leaned over from where he was, then immediately gawked at the small trench formed in the small courtyard dedicated to the restaurant. Mostly because at the end of it lay a singed Damien.

“Damien! Oh my god, Damien!” Pip leaped over the counter and sprinted. “Damien! Damien are you okay!?” He grabbed the singed man and turned him over.

Damien gritted his teeth together. His eye twitched as smoke lightly came off of his body. And most of all he was staring directly at Pip. “YOU. WILL. CALL. ME-“

Damien stopped immediately. Pip’s face brightened spectacularly once he realized Damien was uninjured. The tension seized and he became limp in defeat. “Fine, I’m Damien. You can call me Damien, I know you won’t call me anything else.”

“I’d love to call you fine as well! I’m so happy you’re alright! …You’re still alright right?” Pip’s patted parts of Damien, concerned for any major injuries.

Damien’s face opened up. That was a first. Somebody legitimately caring for his health and safety? He shook his head and stood up. “No, I’m fine. Er, I’m okay.” He brushed his pants to remove and debris and dirt. “You know. Being the Antichrist gives you a lot of special resistances, especially to flames and explosions.”

Pip laughed and quickly jumped on him. Destroying the space between them. Damien let out a small cry as he felt Pip’s arms wrap around him. Pip leaned in and over Damien’s shoulder. “That’s so good to hear.”

Damien tensed and clenched his fists again, this time hard enough that in darker parts of the castle one would notice the glow emanating from them. But then relaxation came to him and he loosened in the blond’s grasp. Damien slowly raised his arms behind Pip’s back to imitate what he was doing.

Damien quickly separated from him as he heard a door opening from a wall in the courtyard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't count as an advertisement if I openly mock the reference material, right?


	22. And No Overtime, Too!

“What was that!? Did something blow up at the …Chipotles?”

One of the doors to the courtyard had burst open, and out of it jumped Stan Marsh. While the wreckage and modern restaurant chain shocked his face into confused distortion, he managed to shake it off and walk to the two singed men.

Damien immediately recognized who was coming towards him and Pip, and he also immediately became filled with anger at the man. “You!” He pointed and scowled at Stan. “What do you think you’re doing!? Everyone was commanded to leave and was fired!” He clenched parts of his hair in his hands and threw them down. They burst into flames. “You have no special privileges to work and will not continue!”

Stan staggered back. “W-woah dude!” He raised his hands defensively. “I wasn’t doing anything to your room, m-my tools are at home! I just needed your library ‘cause I don’t know how to make furniture like that!”

The fire on Damien’s fists dissipated. His mouth hung open a little and his eyebrows scrunched together. He lifted his hands to hold in his face. He let out a groan as he slid his hands down it. “Your kind of people bring such suffering.” He slowly turned around and walked over to inspect the damages. He groaned and rubbed his temple with a single finger.

Stan tiptoed behind him, trying to not to startle too much. “… So do you want me to fix that for you or… ?” He let out a quiet yelp as Damien immediately spun around. Damien got close and pointed right at Stan’s face. While Damien was shorter than him, Stan knew better so he could be intimidated.

“You will. Later. But I will make this clear right now.” He grabbed Stan’s collar. His hands were glowing again. “You will go to that library and do nothing for me. You will not clean a speck of dust. You will not put any misplaced books back. You might as well leave the books you took off on the ground. You will not do anything that makes you a worker under me. If I find out you will experience the true horrors of demonic possession and destruction. Understand?” He stared with sharp, open eyes at Stan. Damien had slowly pulled him lower as he talked, bringing him to eye level.

Stan gulped and nodded. “O-of course. You got it.” He rose up when he was released and brushed the front of his coat. He didn’t want to mention his previous experience with demonic possession, especially since it was Damien’s dad that did it.

Pip came in between the two of them. “I’m so terribly sorry Damien, is there anywhere inside I can try to heat those up?”

Damien puffed out some air. He raised his hand to deny Pip’s offer. Instead he jumped over the non-damaged counter, where the two burritos laid. He unwrapped one and took a bite out of it, stuffing the other in his pocket.

Stan blinked as he looked at the Antichrist slide back over the counter and make his way to another entrance into the main castle. “Wait. Is he eating uncooked Chipotle’s? Brutal. That’s definitely going to ruin his night.” He turned to Pip.

Pip shrugged. “Maybe. But at least no one will be around to hear it.”

“Heh heh, except you of course.” Stan glanced back to Damien to double check he was far away enough. He leaned in closer to Pip. “Are, uh, you sure you’re okay with spending the rest of the day with him Pip? He seems a little too on edge.”

“Oh don’t worry Stanley, he’s just stressed out because he wants to make sure this prophecy of mine is fulfilled. I suppose I can’t blame him for trying, I’ve read quite a number of those stories. They never ended well.”

“Yeah, he seems to be pretty accepting of this whole “you becoming king” thing if he’s spending this much alone time with you.” Stan patted Pip’s shoulder.

“… What do you mean by-“ Pip’s eyes widened. “Oh! Oh my no it’s nothing like that Stanley! I-“ He twirled his fingers together. “… I may have flubbed a little of that when I told him about that. By that I mean I said I had to be a king’s subordinate.”

“Wait you mean you didn’t- … OOooooh… okay, that makes a lot more sense than the other one. But, really Pip? I never saw you as the lying type. You’re so passive.”

Pip sighed. “I know. But I just didn’t think it was a good idea to tell a king himself that I was supposed to become a king. Maybe instead of jumping to a throne I could be a king’s right hand man and learn the ways of the job. So if he needed to step down or a distant territory that needed a separate ruler sprung up I’d be there.” He chuckled to himself. “Yes, I guess I became a little less passive ever since I left South Park, didn’t I? It really was that old dodgeball coach that got to me I tell you. The first day I struggled throwing the ball because I didn’t want to hurt anyone, that’d be rude. So he stopped the practice for a moment to tell me:” He put on his best coach impression. “Look, kid. This game’s about hurting people. And you gotta realize that they know that, and if you refuse to throw the ball it’s gonna be more rude than throwing it ever could be. So get out there and give them a good challenge, alright?” He smiled as he took his hat off and fanned himself with it.

“Hey, I’m happy to hear you standing up for yourself. I guess you’re smarter than a lot of people if you’re willing to lie for the better to the Antichrist’s face.”

“Pirrup! There are more tasks and jobs you can do. There will be little breaks today.” Damien shouted across the courtyard.

“Uh, well, good luck Pip.” Stan turned Pip around and gave him a light shove.

“Oh! Uh, thank you Stanley!” He said while he jogged to the Antichrist. He waved before quickly exiting into the castle behind Damien.

Stan scratched the back of his neck. Whelp, back to the library he guessed. He made sure nothing was on fire at the restaurant. He was surprised he never noticed it from all the times he entered, weird. He went back to the door he came in through. The library was a short distance from the entrance, probably intended more for public use, so it was a short walk. Once inside, he looked around again. He was still impressed by the very tall bookshelves that were propped up against the sides of the wall and up to the high ceiling. Upon closer inspection a couple of the books had fallen off from the explosion nearby, too bad he wasn’t allowed to clean any of them. Oh well.

Stan made his way to one of the tables between two of the shorter shelves, and sat next to two things: A rather high stack of books, and a man.

“Sorry about that Wendyl, did you manage to find anything when I was gone?”


	23. Oddly Heavy

“Ah, yes. I think I found the perfect book for you.” Wendyl grabbed a book from the pile next to him and offered it to Stan.

Stan calmly took the book. He immediately judged it by its cover. Quite a strange saying honestly, seeing as that’s the only way to see if one wants a book or not. Nonetheless he looked at the man on the cover, he had a stylistically triangular head and he was wearing a jester’s hat. “Advanced Furniture Building for Fools, huh?”

Stan looked at the book with a slight grimace. He wanted to think of it as an insult to his intelligence, but he couldn’t tell if was an honest brand or not. Are there book companies here too? Printing presses but no power tools invented? Actually wait no, isn’t that how real world time happened?

He shook his head. This place is weird. That’s it. Weird weird weird. That’s the only point Stan wanted to drive in his head. Weird.

“Well… I guess I’ll start then.” He flipped open the book and skimmed over the order of the chapters. He let out a sigh of relief. If he didn’t get this day off he probably never would’ve built Damien’s stuff right.

“So what was that noise outside? Did someone sneak into the castle and find themselves greatly unlucky?”

“Well I know I almost did, since we forget to tell him about us coming here.” Stan then made a “more or less” sign with his hand. “It was more like that Thorn guy got caught up in snacking in the castle and accidently left the oven on.”

Wendyl narrowed his eyes. “… Most ovens don’t explode, Marsh.”

“I mean, yeah I know, but I assumed that the Antichrist being there had a part in it. Either way I’ve got something new to fix. At least I got that door fixed yesterday.”

Wendyl nodded. “I see. Lord Thorn suffers from the same problem as many of the ancients, he’s too used to magic stored in oneself then licenses. He may slip up sometimes when we recheck the license system. …And also he’s a terrible cook.”

Stan chuckled. “Wow, I didn’t think you’d be the one making fun of him anytime soon. Since you’re so high ranking and all, you know?”

“I…haven’t had a day off in quite some time. I rarely get the chance to talk to someone who I know will be fine with a joke or two to him.”

Stan patted him on the back. “Well, hey, that’s a start! Right?” He stopped when he saw Wednyl tense up. He went back to reading.

“…May I ask you a question, Marsh?” Wendyl didn’t look away from the book when he asked. In fact he hadn’t turned the page for quite some time now.

“Uh, of course Wendy-*cough* cough* Excuse me. Wendyl, fire away.”

While he seemed a little more uncomfortable now, Wendyl still pushed through to the question. “When you came to the dinner in your working clothes, you said you didn’t change because you wanted to make sure Marjorine’s house was finished. Why did you do that? I would’ve thought you’d dress up a little for your self image.”

Stan shrugged. “Heh, what can I say, I guess I just can’t help but want to help people.” He smiled, but noticed how engrossed Wendyl was in on that same page. “… But if you want to know, I guess I do that because of a late friend.”

Wendyl looked up, that seemed to have gotten his attention.

Stan put his elbows on the table and looked at the book. “A couple of years ago me and her family found a letter. And when we read it we realized that she wasn’t coming back. Ever. And it really struck me because I realized how I could’ve easily prevented it. I was supposed to be her boyfriend. But really we barely spent time together. And even when we did I rarely actually cared about her.”

Stan noticed Wendyl’s widened eyes and moved on. “I realized that she had a bunch of issues I ignored or didn’t help her out with. So now I try to make people feel important as much as I can. I usually do it by helping them out with small jobs.”

He leaned up and made eye contact with Wendyl. “Heh heh, it’s gotten me a pretty tight schedule sometimes, but I guess it’s worth it, right?”

Wendyl rubbed his forehead to avoid eye contact. “Y-yes, of course.”

“Wendyl.” Stan still kept his eyes on him. He noticed that Wendyl kept nervously glancing away when their eyes met. “Where did you sleep last night?”

Wendyl staggered a little. “Uh, y-you know Stan, someplace nice and warm. Just like every other day. N-night, I mean.”

Stan scooted his chair over. “Marjorine came over to check on you. She assumed you were at my place after you left her place. She seemed awfully worried.”

“I’m… I’m fine now. And that’s all that matters, right?”

“I’ve got a feeling…” Stan put his hand on Wendyl’s shoulder. “That you still don’t have someplace to sleep tonight. I’ve got plenty of room at my house.”

Wendyl gulped. “No Stan I couldn’t-I wouldn’t… I’m fine.”

Stan made direct eye contact again with Wendyl. “Are you?”

Wendyl bit his lip and tried to look back to the book. “… I think I am.”

Stan slid the book away. “I’m serious, you need someplace to stay and you shouldn’t be sleeping on the streets. I’m here for you, alright?”

Wendyl made one last glance to the page on the book before looking at Stan.

“…Alright.”


	24. Balls to the Wall

“Alright, a little to the left.”

The screeching sound of wood against solid rock filled the large room. Damien stood on the small platform at the end, directing the single worker he had at the moment. To put it bluntly he was impressed. The brute strength behind the blond certainly was enough to move the massive table.

“Hmm… Now a little back.” Also to put it bluntly, Damien had run out of ideas to keep Pip occupied, and he was stalling for time. Everything else was either too specific for professionals or was too easy to do. Pirrup did seem eager to please however, as he had been happily dealing with this nonsense for the past half hour.

Damien bit his thumb. He should have realized that the blond had excellent stamina and strength from not breaking a sweat for weeks down in the “trainee quarters”. Although, his technically former assistant did convince him that it was probably a side-effect of that prophecy madness. So what would happen after today? Would that mean all of his strength and size would disappear? Damien would hate to see the blond’s oxen arms go…

He scratched the back of his head. The hell was that? That Chipotles must have not been sitting with him well, he wasn’t thinking straight.

“Is this fine Damien? Or would you like me to move it again?” Pip leaned against the table, ready to push. Currently it was positioned diagonally across the room, leaving some floor space in front of the throne.

Damien checked his internal clock. He figured he had stalled long enough. Since his two guests had left an hour ago and the sky had become a deep black, it was probably near the time for sleep. “Yes. Come check on it from here if you want, and keep it there for tomorrow. I believe the day is over.”

Damien rubbed his eyes as Pip quickly jogged up onto the platform. He looked out to the table and put his hands on his hips. He nodded with a smile in appreciation of his own work, but then his smile fell and rubbed his chin. “Hmm… You know Damien, I think this place would love a little something.”

Damien separated his hand and head. “Really. And what would that be?”

“A ball.”

Damien blinked. “A… ball. A single, solitary ball? While you seem like the person for physical activity I don’t see this place to be fit for that.”

Pip shook his head. “Oh no no no, not like that. You know, a ball, …a dance?”

“A dance?” Damien seemed grossed out. “Why would I do anything as silly as that?” He rubbed his temple and walked off the platform. “Besides, I don’t dance.”

“Do you not know how to, Damien?” Pip tilted his head.

Damien raised his hand. “That’s generally what happens when you don’t dance, yes.”

“Well…” Pip hopped off the platform. “How about I show you.”

Damien raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me? Wha-hey!”

Pip grabbed both of Damien’s hands and spun him around. “Come on Damien, it shouldn’t take that long! Follow me!”

Damien had his mouth agape. “What makes you think this is okay to do!?”

Pip smiled. “Well, you seem to be doing quite alright now.”

Damien blinked and looked down. Sure enough, his feet were pretty close to in sync with the blond’s. He faintly yelped as Pip spun him around and pulled him back in.

“One, two, three, one, two three. See Damien, you’re a natural!” Pip’s smile grew steadily bigger as they continued to dance. He hummed out a tune to their footsteps.

Damien couldn’t tell what was happening anymore. As they spun around some more, he realized something. He hadn’t been resisting at all. His hands didn’t even glow from annoyance. The heat that had crawled onto his face at the beginning began to burn him as the dance forced him closer to Pip.

“Pirrup!” Damien broke away. “Pirrup.” Damien brushed off the front of his shirt. “Do not. Do that again.”

“Aw, but Damien-“

“No. No buts.” Damien grabbed his stomach. He heard a menacing growl emanate from it. This is not the time. It’s time to retire. And that’s what I’ll do.” He heard it again. “M-make sure to put out all the torches before going to sleep. Goodnight.”

Pip looked cautiously as the Antichrist somewhat hobbled out of the room. He scratched his head as he heard the door slam. With nothing left to do, Pip shrugged and headed to the storage room for a tool to put them out.

As Pip walked across the hallways of the castle, putting out torches, he thought back to the dance he and Damien had. He wasn’t embarrassed by that, was he?

As he pondered to himself, he heard a grunt echo through the hallway he was walking through. Pip stopped walking to make sure he heard right. Once it echoed again, he approached the source of the noise cautiously. Slowly he got closer to a door on the side of the hallway, and opened it towards him.

He immediately slammed it back closed. “S-sorry Damien!” The sound that reverberated out of the room made two things obvious. Firstly, that it was a restroom, and secondly, that Damien definitely was not having a jolly good time. In the split second Pip was there before he realized what was happening, Damien looked completely incapacitated. He loosened his collar, it sounded pretty bad.

As he rubbed his forehead, he saw something out of the corner of his a distance away. Nothing out of the ordinary, mind you, but it caught his eye.

Just a person in a cloak walking down the hallway.

“Um, h-hello? Are you another guest?”

The figure walked over to the door and stood next to Pip. They stared at each other for a second. Then the figure put their hand on Pip’s chest and pulled out a knife.

“Gah!” Pip jumped back in surprise from the sudden threat. “What’s that for!?”

The figure stared again, making sure he didn’t move. Then he put his hand on the doorknob to open it.

Pip gasped. “No!” Damien was in too much pain to fight him off. What was he going to do? Was there anything near he could grab? A suit of armor stood next to him. 

“Aha!” Pip blinked. He tried to pull out the sword the armor held, unfortunately though it turned out it was a fake. Just a handle. “Uh…” He frantically tore the helmet off of the armor. “D-don’t move or I’ll use this! I’m warning you!”

The figure ignored and began to open the door, but he closed it in curiosity.

Pip spun rapidly in place holding the helmet. He spun as fast as possible, enough that the figure’s head imitated his movement. He released the helmet.

Damien jumped as someone’s rear crashed through the wooden door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course you're not thinking straight Damien, heyo!


	25. Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones, But Knives Will Definitely Kill Me

“Is there anything you need, Damien?” Pip opened up the door and looked away. The person in the cloak was still hanging halfway through it, unconscious.

“More… T-Toilet paper.” Damien sputtered out through painful grunts.

“Right-o.” Pip closed the door.

Damien winced, but not from the protruding rear of the person through the door. As time eased his struggles, he relaxed. He heard footsteps approaching the room.

The door swung open and a blond presented the only thing Damien would describe in holy words. Pip covered his eyes. “Here you go, Damien.”

“Th-thank you.” Damien took the paper and motioned for Pip to leave. He obliged.

Pip stood next to the door and hummed to himself. He looked to the person in the door, and noticed the helmet lodged between the person. It was stuck pretty firmly, but he carefully tried to slide it out. Unfortunately they popped out the door, leaving a gaping hole. Pip accidently glanced through it. “Oops! Sorry Damien!”

“No, no. I’m done.” Silence flooded the hallway. “…Wait.”

Pip winced as he heard the finish. He hastily put the helmet on the suit of armor (upside down) and went to examine the cloaked figure. He heard the door open.

“Don’t worry. You won’t have to clean it.” Damien stood over Pip and the figure. “Alright. Now who is this supposed to be?” He opened up the hood. His fist rose above him and burst into flames. He stopped when he felt his upper arm grabbed.

“Um, Damien. That doesn’t seem like the brightest way to figure out who he is.”

“I have no idea who this is.” He closed the hood. “But that’s his problem. He should understand the consequences of attempting to kill me.” Damien stared at Pip, who still held his arm. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Then do you know his identity?”

“…Actually, I might.” Pip opened up the hood and sighed. He closed it. “I don’t know either. Just some black man, I suppose. But you really shouldn’t kill him Damien.”

Damien raised his fist again in fire, but it burnt out and he raised an eyebrow. “…Black? He was clearly white, Pirrup.”

Pip frowned. “...What? But he seemed-“ He opened the hood up again. “Oh. I guess you’re right.” He closed it. “…But what made me think-“ He opened it again and his eyes widened. “Wait, no. He’s black again, see?” He leaned him over.

Damien’s eyes narrowed. Sure enough, he was black all of the sudden. “Give me that.” He closed and opened the hood. “White.” He did it again. “Black.” Again. “Asian.” Close, open. “Black and white” He closed it tightly this time. His eyes were wide and his lips were tightened. “It’s King Douchebag.”

“…Gesundheit?” Pip looked curiously at the cloaked man. “Who’s that?”

“When the kingdom of Kupa Keep had been struggling in its constant warfare, a lone warrior skyrocketed in its ranks. He never talked to anybody and they called him douchebag. He singlehandedly ended the war, so he was given royalty status. Although he never used it, he seemed to only understand taking orders. He wandered the lands and fought anyone angry enough to want it. Or fetch something if he got something out of it. Naturally he was drastically powerful for his sudden rise in status, and held to himself numerous abilities and skills that few could use.”

He held part of the cloak between his fingers and rubbed, examining the cloth. “This is the signature cloak of the Ancients. That would explain his unique qualities.”

“Those old people who don’t need licenses? Like that Mr. Garrison?”

“Yes. Well, no. I’ll explain later. But all you should know is that means that he naturally has energy stored in him for magical purposes. And my guess is a lot.”

“You said that Mr. Garrison was really hard to track, right? Was this… King Douchebag hard to track as well?”

Damien scratched his chin. “No. But he might have tried. As you can tell he has quite the ability for disguise. In fact, most expected him to be impossible to track just from description. Actually it was almost impossibly useless. This was because he would change his entire wardrobe, on average, 8 times before he finished walking down a street. A massive eyesore. This might have been in his favor though, as more people would attempt to fight him. He was reportedly always ready for battle.”

“Oh my. Suppose he’s here for you then?”

“Of course. Some maniac probably told him that he’d give him something for defeating me.” Damien patted down on the cloak. “But what is especially strange is his lack of a weapon. He’s known for holding the biggest and most flashy objects for weapons.”

Pip looked around the hallway. “He did pull a knife on me before trying to enter the room. Where is it… Ah! There it is, see?” He pointed a distance away.

Damien glared at the knife. “A knife? How… disappointing.” He walked over to it. “I know that none of the weapons he’s reported using could hurt me, but he could at least try to-“ He lightly touched the hilt of the blade. He yelped, pulled his hand under his other arm, and crouched down. “Except for that. Except for that.”

“Damien?” Pip came over and put his hand on the man’s back. “Did you accidently cut yourself?”

“No. That’s not it.” He shook the hand and rubbed his forehead with it. “I should have known it was going to happen eventually. …It’s a license.”

“A what?” Pip tilted his head and examined it. Upon closer inspection, one might have noticed that the knife on the ground was definitely odd. Unlike most knives that were thin and sharp, this was much more thick and blunt. It definitely wasn’t an efficient knife. Well, if it was shaped like that it could only be efficient for one reason. But when looking even closer at it, multiple small indents in the shapes of symbols were spotted all over it. Just like the licenses Pip saw earlier.

“That must absorb energy of any kind, especially supernatural. That could…” Damien grabbed his chest. “That would have killed me. Um, Pip can you-?”

“Oh yes, of course.” Pip picked up the knife. He walked back to King Douchebag. After exploring a bit, he found the small sheath for the knife and put it in. “Is there anywhere you want me to put it Damien?”

“Just… Just put it somewhere you’re sure no one will use it.” Damien walked over. He looked at Pip and put his hand on the blond’s shoulder. “Pirrup. I thank you for saving my life. You may…” He gulped. “Become a full-time subordinate tomorrow.”

“There’s no need to thank me, Damien. I’d feel cheeky just working like normal.”

“I insist. You did much more today than what you would normally do.” He stretched out his hand. “And I’m positive you would adjust well. All right?”

Pip hesitated, but quickly shook the hand with a smile. “All right.” He put the knife in his pocket. “Should we get the poor man to the training quarters downstairs?”

Damien scratched the back of his neck. “Uh, yes. Training quarters. Of course.” He picked him up will Pip and they carried him off, away from the hallway.

Neither of them noticed the glow emanating from the toilet when they left.


	26. Remember When This Was A Comedy?

Wendyl sighed. He rubbed his hands together as he sat on the bed.

After skimming through a couple of the books at the library, Stan seemed satisfied. He kept some of the books for later, more in-depth studying and they headed to his home. 

Stan and Wendyl had spent most of the time sitting in his family’s living room. It seemed that Stan’s family had moved out a number of years ago, his parents from retirement and his sister from a job in a different kingdom. His dog seemed to have survived all these years, though. About halfway through their time in the room the pink scarfed canine came in without a sound. But the moment Stan tried to pet the pet though, it was oddly hostile. It growled and barked at him the closer he got. Wendyl had found that interesting as Stan was forced to take the dog out.

Things felt unbearably slow, just as Wendyl expected. Even if Stan had a more caring attitude about him, a feeling of dread seemed to naturally hover around wherever Wendyl and Stan were. But Stan still seemed eager to try to keep a conversation, much to Wendyl’s dismay.

Wendyl thought back to the small talk conversations they had. Most of them were the basics, like what he had to do for his job, who he knew, how the weather was. 

But there was one that stood out to him especially. The one where Stan asked how he was feeling. When he replied with “Good, I suppose.” Stan asked again. Stan got specific and asked him for his overall feelings, like a day-to-day basis. He replied with “Fine”, but Stan still didn’t seem satisfied.

Wendyl saw that Stan struggled to find the right words for his next question, as he repeated or stuttered words to stall for time and let his brain catch up. When Stan realized that he had little to work with he got straight to the point. He wanted to make sure Wendyl was being honest, that he wasn’t hiding any feelings. Wendyl regretted it, but he snapped.

“Why do you care? Why should you care!? Just leave me alone!”

Wendyl hated the defeated look he gave Stan after that. What’s worse is that Stan actually left the room after that, maybe to calm the mood. He especially remembered what Stan said as he stood in the doorway, too.

“I just… I don’t know I just didn’t want it to happen again I… I didn’t…”

Stan kicked his heel across the floor and scratched the back of his neck before he left, leaving Wendyl to himself. He couldn’t remember at all what he thought about in the time he was alone, but it was probably because he didn’t know what to think about after that. It certainly felt empty in the room.

After a decent amount of time had passed Stan came back into the room, maybe to check on him or something. But Stan also said that he realized he only had his room ready, and it would be best if Wendyl slept there while Stan tidied up the guest room for himself.

While he really didn’t understand the logic behind it, Wendyl still accepted the invitation. And there he was, sitting on the bed and looking down at the ground. He kicked his feet up, frustrated at his interactions earlier. When his feet came back down, he jumped a little. A clang indicated his feet had hit something metal under the bed. Curious, he got off and bent over to look under the bed.

Wendyl’s eyes widened. It was the red toolbox. He quickly jumped up and ran to the door. Cracking it open, he looked down the hallway. No one was there, but he saw that one of the doors was open. Out of the door burst out light, but the shadow of Stan adjusting the blanket of the bed danced on the wall the light bled onto.

Wendyl silently shut the door. If he made this as quick as possible he might get away with it. As he slid the box out he felt the metal inside rattle around, his hands must have been shaking. He sat on the bed and placed the box on his lap. He opened it and quickly sifted through the tools and screws. He already knew they weren’t supposed to be here, he was looking for something specific. After pushing all of the metal to the sides, he dug into the indents on the bottom of the toolbox.

After some fidgeting, the part of the box popped out. Wendyl grabbed it and put it to the side. He looked inside the small secret compartment. His heart stopped. Inside was a small scrap of paper. He shuddered once he grabbed it. Wendyl lifted the paper up. Although his hand shook uncontrollably, he managed to read it.

To, Stan. Love, Wendy.

Stan jumped as he heard a crashing sound down the hallway. He rushed over to his room and stood in the doorway. “Wendyl?” Stan looked at the toolbox and tools that laid on the ground, then to the man sitting on the bed. Wendyl was hunched over and had both of his hands imbedded in his hair. In one of the hands a slip of paper stuck out between his fingers. Stan jumped onto the bed, knees first, and immediately put his arm around Wendyl’s back. “Wendyl are you okay?”

Wendyl forcefully rubbed through his hair. “I’m sorry… Stan I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Stan put both arms around Wendyl and pulled him onto his lap. “Don’t worry, I’m here for you. Just let it out.”

“No, Stan I-… I was going to do it. I only met him after I wrote the letter Stan, I just… I really meant it I-“ He choked on his own breath.

Stan put his hands on Wendyl’s shoulders. “I know, I know. Deep breaths, you can do it. Is there anything you want me to do?”

Wendyl breathed in and out. He calmed down. “N-no. Keep doing what you’re doing.” His breaths were heavy and his eyes became glossy. “Do… D-do you…”

“You don’t need to talk, you can relax.” Stan wrapped his arms around him again.

Wendyl looked up. “No, I need to let this out.” Stan nodded, and Wendyl looked back down. “Do you remember when I posted that photoshopped picture of myself online?”

“Yeah, I remember. Is that what started it?”

“I think so.” He sighed. “A part of me just became uncomfortable with myself after I did that. It felt like everything I did was a little harder to do after that. It wasn’t just the debates I did, getting out of bed, doing my homework, talking to my friends…” He paused. “…I kept it to myself. I figured the same thing would happen if I let it out. Everyone would jump on me and say I’m the problem. …But it just got so bad.” He rubbed his knuckles together. “Near the end, I felt like I couldn’t do anything anymore. …Remember when Cartman died?”

“Of course, I’ll never forget. Did that make it worse?”

“No. It was the happiest day of my life. Because a part of me put the blame on him. I always argued about things when he was around. And even though it got harder to push points as time went on, I assumed it was because Cartman got more stubborn. So when he was gone I tried debating in public again. But I realized something. I got worse. I couldn’t hold a point, I didn’t interject or counter argument, and I lost all my arguments. As it turns out I had gotten steadily worse over time, and once Cartman passed on I had nothing to show for it.”

Stan rubbed Wendyl’s back. “Yeah, you went through a lot, and nobody really tried to consolidate you, did they? I didn’t even do it… Is there anything that really got you going though?”

“Yeah… just one thing for a little bit I guess. It, uh, was when Cartman pretended to be transgender to get his own restroom. That was near the beginning of me doubting my abilities, so I guess I tried to do something different? So I dressed up like a boy and pretended to be trans too to show Cartman what it was like. But… then I noticed that the uncomfortableness went away. And it wasn’t just that, it wasn’t that I could stay like that and continue doing my old things. If felt like… like something I didn’t know was inside of me was being expressed for the first time. And I loved it, I really did. But like everything else I gave up on it. I remember all the side glares and disapproving looks I got while doing it, that might have done it.” He rubbed his eyes. “I don’t know. I knew people cared about me, but it was so hard telling myself that when I didn’t care about me.”

Stan ruffled through Wendyl’s hair a bit and leaned his chin on Wendyl’s shoulder. “Then I’ll be here to tell you.”

Wendyl felt some of Stan’s tears seep through his shirt. He wiped some of his own off his face and hugged Stan back. “Thanks, Stan.”


	27. Sleeping On The Job

Damien grunted. Someone was knocking on the door. He opened his eyes, and once again the light from the sun rising pierced his morning vision. Squinting and leaning back in retreat, he rubbed his eyes and groggily let out a “Come in.”

The door creaked open. Out came a man in a pink hat with a black haired man following behind him. He walked to the side of the bed politely.

Damien’s eyelids were heavy as he looked at Wendyl. “Well? What is it?”

Wendyl’s eyes widened a little. He glanced back and forth. “Well… most of the people you fired are waiting in front to be rehired, Lord Thorn. …Including me.”

Damien pinched the of bridge his nose. “Yes, of course. You’re hired. You can start by getting the servants in immediately.” He glanced to the other black-haired man in behind Wendyl, who was holding a toolbox. “And you may start as well.”

Stan nodded, but with a bead of sweat going down his forehead. “Okay, um… but before we get going… Are you aware…?”

Damien raised his hand in front of him to interrupt Stan. “Yes. Yes I’m aware.” He leaned down and rubbed his temple with both hands. He looked and glanced to the right of him, Pip waved to him energetically with a smile. Damien sighed. “Pip, this is starting to become a real problem.”

Pip nodded before shuffling a little. “I’d say so.” He lifted the sheets up just enough so he could see underneath. “I’m beginning to doubt you even own pajamas.”

Damien quickly patted down the blanket to protect his decency (what little of it he had left to Pip). He let out a sneer to the two men watching and ignored the faint blush he had.

Wendyl had a small smile on him, a small chuckle showed his minor amusement at Damien and Pip’s interactions. Stan mostly let out a little more sweat, nervous at Pip’s casual exposure of the Antichrist.

Stan let out a cough. “Okay, do you want me to do anything first?” He raised his hand with his index finger out and kept it still while his other index finger land on it. “Your bedroom, that Chipotle’s stand, that door we noticed was broken in the hallway…” He hesitated counting on the fourth finger. “Um… do you want me to board up that hole in the castle wall?”

Damien blinked. “What hole in the castle wall?” He crossed his arms.

Wendyl raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t that you my lord? Since the brickwork landed outside, it had to have been done inside the castle.” He narrowed his eyes, as Damien seemed to be lacking an answer. “…At the dungeon, my lord?”

Pip tilted his head. “Dungeon? OOooh, right, where I was kept at?”

Damien’s eyes widened. He shook his head, then looked Pip in the eyes. “He meant to say training quarters.”

Pip shook his head. “Oh don’t worry Damien I knew you were keeping me as a prisoner. Quite obvious really. But it was oh so nice of you to try to make me feel better about it. So…thank you?” He shrugged, still smiling.

Damien’s eye twitched. He let out a puff of air before resting his head in his hands. Clearly the blond was not as oblivious as he thought he was. “Ugh… Wait.” Damien shot up. “That means… Oh, dammit. King Douchebag.”

Stan furrowed his eyebrows. “Kuh… King Douchebag?” Stan remembered when all his friends (And Cartman) pretended to fight great fantasy wars over a stick, and the one new kid that beat everyone up because of it. “Do you… know him?”

“In a way.” Damien rubbed his chin. “He tried to assassinate me. And… almost succeeded. In fact… Pip, do you still have that knife?”

“Oh! I certainly hope so.” Pip quickly threw the covers off and jumped to the closet on the side of the room. “Let me check.”

Wendyl looked curiously at the blond rummaging through the clothes. “King Douchebag? I’m surprised not much was broken. He’s pretty reckless.”

“Ah, here it is.” Pip pulled a knife and its holster out of the pocket of one of his pants. “Well, he got the restroom door. …Although I suppose I did that didn’t I?”

“You fought against him, Pip?” Stan walked over and patted his arm. “I can’t believe it… You didn’t even get a scratch!”

Pip chuckled. “Going down in one hit tends to do that.”

Wendyl’s eyes shot wide open. “O-one…!?” He shook his head before he walked over and grabbed Pip’s arm. “We need to talk.” He led them out through the door.

Stan flinched as the door slammed. He stared at the door for a couple of seconds before he let out a puff of air. He looked to the man who laid in the bed.

“…If you need instruction, you can start with the counter I smashed through earlier.”

Stan scratched the back of his neck before he glanced to the door.

Damien raised an eyebrow. “If you’re afraid of interrupting them, they shouldn’t have made a guest hallway their private location for talking. You may proceed.”

Stan walked over to the bed and kneeled down. Letting his arms plop onto the bed near Damien. “Not now. Let’s have our own private chat.”

Damien narrowed his eyes. “…If this blanket comes off the last thing you hope to see will be covered by the fires of brimstone far hotter than you’ve ever experienced.”

Stan blinked. “…Uh…okay, dude.” He straightened up and raised his arms. “You can trust me. Anyway…” He leaned back down and tapped the blanket. “You know I read Wendyl’s letter from before right? Did you read it too?”

“Wendyl’s letter? You’ll need to elaborate. He’s written plenty in the three years-“ Damien froze. His eyebrows furrowed intensely. “Where are you from?”

Stan rubbed his temple with a single finger. “Definitely from where Wendyl’s from, if you want to know. I lived where he grew up, went to school with him. Even when he was a she…” Stan tapped the side of the bed with all fingers. “I didn’t live with him though. And I don’t think anybody else did either. That didn’t stop him at first, but it caught up with him…” He looked straight into Damien’s glare. “And I know that you met him at his lowest point. You manipulated him, you took advantage of him, and you knew he might do something insane at his lowest point.”

Damien’s grimace continued to curl downwards. What was Marsh going to do? Attempt to blackmail him? Tell the public? His eyes widened as Stan grabbed his hand. His hand quickly glowed with heat, hot enough to make Stan notice. Stan turned their hands over, then placed his other hand on top of them.

“…And I can’t thank you enough for convincing him to stay alive.”

Stan shook Damien’s hand and let go. Damien’s face uncurled and blankened over. His hand hung where Stan left it, now cooled down. He blinked as Stan left the room.

Mortals were so strange to Damien.


	28. Ever Heard of Knocking?

A door in a hallway of the castle quickly burst open, and two men came out of it.

“Okay, so… that one, over there.” Wendyl pointed down to the end of the hall, where a door with a hole stood across from a suit of armor with an upside-down head.

“Oh yes, that’s the one. I threw the helmet and he smashed into one of the guest restrooms, he did.” Pip twirled his fingers. “That got me in trouble, didn’t it?”

“What? No.” He patted Pip on the back. “Well, not with us of course. But if you managed to take King Douchebag down in one hit… Heh, who’s going to stop you?”

Pip broke out in a blush. He scratched the back of his neck softly. “Oh my. I do hope I didn’t humiliate the poor chap.”

Wendyl shrugged. “Eh, don’t be. He’s been in shady business ever since he became a wandering warrior. But…” He let out a mischievous smile, fingers sinisterly tapping against one another. “Please do keep humiliating Lord Thorn.”

Pip’s expression glazed over. He blinked a couple of times. “…Excuse me?”

He gave Pip a quick bump from the fist the shoulder. “Come on, Pirrup, didn’t you notice? He called you by first name back there, and after the third day of waking up naked next to you! He doesn’t call anybody by first name.”

Pip became wide eyed. He shook his hands defensively. “W-wait a minute Wendyl, I think you jumped to conclusions a little there. There’s nothing between us. Besides, Damien doesn’t seem like one for relationships. …Wait, how did you know it was the third day in a row? You weren’t here when we woke up.”

Wendyl raised his arm and shook his hand to brush the thought aside. “The third stage of grief is bargaining. He tried to inform you to help stop it.” He shrugged. “And of course he isn’t one for relationships, he’s never had one. Not from his father, his mother, no friends, and no romance.” He addressed Pip’s searching glare. “I’ve skimmed over some of the papers he’s occasionally written.”

Pip pleaded. “But certainly I shouldn’t barge into his life and embarrass the man.”

Wendyl shook his head. “Actually, I think you should. Keep doing what you’re doing. You’ll embarrass him, for sure, but… It’ll be the good kind of embarrassment. Something that, if it goes on long enough, he might be able to laugh at later.” He clapped his hands together and gestured to Pip. “…Possibly with you.”

Pip bit his lip. “I don’t know… What got you so interested in relationships anyhow?”

Wendyl sighed. He figured he should keep his conversations with Stan private (And he wasn’t going to admit he found their interactions cute.) “I’ve worked for Lord Thorn for a couple of years now, and you’ve brought on something of him I’ve never seen before. The way he was talking to you in there…” He nodded. “It seemed like there was a part of him that honestly cared for you. Sure he’s been fair or generous to people as a king before, but that was hollow. It comes with the business, I guess. But not you” He patted Pip on the side of his shoulder. “You’re special to him.”

Pip blew out some air. “I hope you’re right. You’re positive about the name thing?”

Wendy gave the best “Of course” gesture his hand could muster. “Don’t worry if you don’t see it now. He probably hasn’t realized it either. But it’ll eventually get too large for him to ignore. Hmm… too large? Is that right? Or…” He snapped his fingers, deep in thought. “No wait, I know. It’s like when you’re dancing, right? Having a relationship’s a learning process. You can’t know how to do it if you don’t start.”

Pip’s staggered at the metaphor, as he thought back to his and Damien’s little dance the day before. “Maybe you’re right. I had quite some rough times when I was a boy because of that…” He glowed with determination and remembered the lessons from his old dodgeball coach. “I’d love to help Damien through that.”

Wendyl gave him a quick one armed hug. “Hey, there you go. And trust me, there’s nothing more of a sign that people are getting closer in a relationship than them calling each other personal names.” He opened his mouth to continue, but heard a creaking sound nearby. They both looked as the door to Pip’s room opened. Out of the room came a man with a red toolbox. He waved to them, Wendyl waved back.

“Hey Stan.”

“Hey Wend-“ Stan hesitated, as Wendyl quickly clamped his hands over his mouth. “…dyl. Uh, you okay?” He quickly walked over and wrapped an arm around him.

Wendyl lowered his hands and gulped. “Yes I’m fine. Did something happen?”

Stan smiled and let out a small chuckle. “Nah, just some small talk. Didn’t want to interrupt you guys. But I’m going to fix that food stand now.” He exited the hallway.

Pip clapped his hands together. “Oh yes, I suppose we all should get to work, shouldn’t we? Didn’t you say all those people were waiting Wendyl?”

Before Wendyl could respond, he was interrupted by one of his own thoughts. He covered his mouth as he looked to Pip curiously.

“Is there something wrong Wendyl?” Pip was wary of Wendyl’s silence.

“Um…” Wendyl searched for words as he wagged his finger. “Perhaps you should talk to Lord Thorn on what you should do first.” Wendyl forced out the answer a little, but it was the best he could think of now. After all, he just realized that the whole point of yesterday was to get rid of the blond the next day. He hoped that Damien’s closest point to a relationship wasn’t going to be fired right there and then.

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Both Pip and Wendyl walked to the guest room. Pip didn’t notice Wendyl keeping some feet away from him. He opened the door.

His eyes locked with the Antichrist. The Antichrist looked back, eye twitching. The moment he saw Pip’s eye began to wander Damien grabbed and slammed the door.

Wendyl was fixed unblinking as he heard Damien inhale, loud enough that it could be heard through the door. Finally he let out muffled grouchy “Pip.”

“So terribly sorry about that Damien. Would you like me to do a special job for you?”

The other side of the door became silent. After a couple of seconds, a minor shuffling of feet could be heard behind it. “Just… Welcome servants back along with Wendyl. Follow his instructions and do it in the throne room. Now leave so I can change.”

“Right away, Damien.” Pip quickly waved to Wendyl to come on, he obliged.

As they walked out of the guest hallway, Wendyl bumped Pip in the side with his elbow. “I told you you’re special to him.”


	29. Date Knight

Damien steadily tapped his foot against wood. His fist supported his chin and his frustrated face, a frown firmly etched into it.

As he sat on the throne he could see all that happened in the large room. The doors were kept wide open for the long line of people waiting to be signed in. The line stretched far, beyond the walls and blocked from anyone’s view inside. This would be quite the wait. Some thought it was a hassle, but they collectively shrugged and figured it was worth it for a free day off. The table that was set up yesterday was still angled, which left some room for the renewed servants’ paths.

This didn’t frustrate Damien though. Why would it? Even if he was the Antichrist he realized the importance of a staff under him. No, it was one of the servants who sat at the table that really got his already boiling blood hotter.

Pip still sat there, writing down names and professions of those who just arrived to his part of the table. Enough people had passed that it was guaranteed that at least one of them was professionally taught writing and organization skills. In fact a couple had approached the blond because they assumed they would take it over when they were rehired. But Pip was resilient, and offered for them to resume their normal schedule. After all, Damien told him it was his job to do right?

Since Damien didn’t do anything, he kept still while his eyes wandered. This is what he normally did day-to-day to pass the time, as he knew that his most important job public appearance. But this time was different. While his eyes still wandered, one troubling fact became increasingly clear. That he would always end at Pip.

He could start at the balcony, where a couple commoners had already began to leak in, then he’d see one of them boringly look down at where people were getting signed in, and he’d look at Pip. He’d start at random people walking across the room, getting ready for their job. He tried to get a good look at each one that passed, partly to make sure nobody had falsely been hired and partly to make sure he remembered their names. But then there’d be the one who took a short break, they’d walk back to the line, chat with a friend, 

He looked at one of the tapestries, but then saw a shadow of someone passing it flicker across it as they walked past, then he looked to the chandelier on the ceiling, then he’d catch one of the people moving on the balcony past, then he’d see them looking down at the job seekers, then they’d make it to the table, then to Pip.

Pip. Pip Pip Pip. What was wrong with Damien? The blond had barely been in his life for a month and a half, and yet he seemed to absorb more and more of Damien’s thoughts as each day passed. Enough that he’d inadvertently make Damien sleepwalk to him. What about him made Damien so unable to not stare?

Damien scratched his head, and thought about what could have made the man so… *sigh*, appealing.

Well, he certainly was in his physical prime, not that that should interest Damien. Since youth he never felt interested in the bodies of men or women. So that couldn’t be it. Perhaps it was his father that deterred him from sexual relationships…

Was it his personality? Damien thought hard, Pip over time had shown nothing but a positive personality. He seemed so respectful, so kind, so humble, and so caring. Horrifying. Damien shuddered at the purity of the man. The expressions he’d seen from him flickered across Damien’s mind. Each smile seemed genuine, every look felt friendly. Even now, Damien could see the same kind of smile come off the blond.

…Wait. Was he staring right now?

Damien shook his head, shoving the thought into the deep recesses of his mind. He needed another excuse so his eyes would stop wandering. Maybe it was… some sort of duty compelling Damien? A sense of honor?

Damien crossed his arms. That actually might be it. He had imprisoned the man for labor for a solid month in such poor conditions. And Pip had saved Damien’s just the day before. Perhaps a reward was in order. Damien nodded, that had to be it.

“Testaburger!” Damien called out. At the table, a figure also working on signing servants up quickly stood up. He grabbed another worker passing by and asked her to take over for the moment. He calmly made his way to the throne.

“Yes, Lord Thorn?” He bowed, then got on one knee.

“I have made my decision about Pip.” He locked his fingers together.

“Yes?” Wendyl listened on with curiosity. Although he was positive Damien wasn’t going to wrong Pip, Damien’s voice was still rigid and commanding.

“I’ve decided to award Pip with a maiden.” He said swiftly.

“A… excuse me, my lord? Is that a good idea?” Wendyl tilted his head.

“A maiden, a lover, of course. I shall reward him for his struggles and his…” Damien loosened his collar. “…Participation in stopping my assassination.”

“Yes… Well, are you sure he’s interested in a maiden?” Wendyl clapped his hands together and dipped them towards Damien. “…Only?”

“Why would Pip not be interested?” Damien raised an eyebrow, but didn’t look at Wendyl. “He is engrossed in relationships. Certainly he would love for a love…-ing one.” He blinked before he raised his arm in Pip’s direction. “Even now, he talks to everyone with a smile.” His eyes widened. Dammit. He had been staring again.

“That’s true… but perhaps a maiden isn’t his… specialty.”

“Are you implying there’s something wrong with the women here? You’ve praised yourself before for standing up for women’s rights, why not now?”

“Oh no no, I’ll always defend women as a whole… But… actually come to think of it. We’re not very good at hiring interesting women, are we?”

Damien furrowed his eyebrows at him, confused as to what the statement meant. Wendyl pointed to the side of the room for a demonstration.

Some of the female servants stood in a line against the wall, waiting for their usual time to set up for breakfast. McCormick walked to the woman at the end. He let out a few incomprehensible muffled flirts before patting her on the back. She fell over onto the ground and hobbled back and forth, unmoving. McCormick, panicked, quickly looked around before bending over to pick her up. He propped her up like a floor lamp, making that one pose that people make when balancing tall things. Once finished, he quickly walked off. He checked nervously to ignore any stares.

“…Okay…” Damien still didn’t process what just happened. “I would have thought we would be better than that after our time here.” Damien shook his open hand, dismissing the event. "Go find a lucky, interesting maiden from inside the town.”

“Erm, that may not be… I only truly know one, my lord. But if I choose her…”

Damien waved the thought away. “That’s an order. You may go now if you wish.”

While Wendyl looked concerned, he still begrudgingly stood up and made his way out. Damien watched with a smirk as the last of the pink beret disappeared behind the doors.

As time went on, the line very slowly withered down to a trickle. The very last people were being signed in, albeit very impatiently at this point. The doors had been closed, as the line stood solely in the throne room now.

Pip scribbled down the name and occupation of the man in front of him, then checked the paper given to him by Wendyl where he should go. He hesitated telling the man, as he heard the large doors creak open.

Out of the doors came out Wendyl with a small frown, with a person behind him. They walked over, behind the table, and to Pip. They both stood for a couple of seconds, but Wendyl nudged the woman. She quickly let out a faint gasp, then reached out her hand so Pip could shake it.

Pip hesitantly obliged. As he grabbed and shook the hand, he took a good look at the woman. She wore a knee-high sea foam green dress and ribbons to pull her blond hair into pigtails. She had a scar over her left eye, dulling the blue into a grey.

“Nice to meet ya Pip, I’m Marjorine. Wendyl’s told me all aboutcha!”


	30. Great Balls of Fire

Wendyl concernedly tapped his foot while he stared out the window.

Of course he was happy to find that Marjorine was excited to be a maiden. It was the one part he thought would go wrong. She didn’t know Pip, why would she say yes?

At least, she never should have met him or anyone like him. Wendyl did a little research on him when he realized Pip was the same Brit that went to his old grade school. To his surprise no records pointed out that he ever existed.

Wendyl shook the thought out of his head. This wasn’t about Pip. It was about Marjorine. Well… at least it mostly wasn’t. He didn’t notice it first, but Marjorine was pretty eager about being maiden. …REALLY eager. Uncomfortably eager.

Wendyl regretted him not doing anything at the dinner table. But then again, he still didn’t exactly know what to do as he rewatched it unfold in his memories. Marjorine quickly began leaning and getting close to Pip after they first met. At the dinner Wendyl would have thought personal space had been outlawed that day. Listening back to the conversations Marjorine said to Pip, a thought blanketed over Wendyl.

Good God, who told her that the first things maidens should do is have sex?

Wendyl lightly bit the side of his finger. He certainly didn’t expect Marjorine to be going on the initiative here, that was partly why he went to her. He expected some days of timid conversations before she and Pip split up. He still believed that Damien had numerous feelings he tried to suffocate for Pip. Keyword being tried, as the prince of darkness seemed to be quickly breaking and caring more for the man by the day.

But Wendyl had intended for a maiden to be a delay. Why did Marjorine become so motivated about doing the opposite? He tried approaching Pip about it, but he said:

“Well… perhaps Damien would prefer if I stay in a relationship like this. If he really doesn’t want that to happen I shouldn’t disrespect him like that.”

Wendyl groaned as he thought back to Pip’s passiveness. But a part of it came from the fact that, when you get down to it, the Brit did have a point. You shouldn’t force relationships on people.

…Although to be honest Pip’s alternative was arguably more forced.

Bells rung from outside. Midnight. They cleared Wendyl’s thoughts. He leaned on the windowsill and sighed. Either way it mostly up to Pip what would happen now.

As he looked out the window he looked out to the empty, dark horizon. Lights had dotted parts of the town across from the castle. They began to flicker into the darkness, to signal the time to retire. Most faded into the night, but a couple still stayed bright for the later sleepers. One notorious light shined brighter than the others. Which was to be expected, as it was also the source of the bells. The church.

Inside the illuminated hall of the church contained what many would come to expect. Large stained glass windows were on the walls, some detailed pillars held up the small private balcony, and shelves for bibles scattered across the room. But what caught the eye was at the end of the hall, the preacher’s area.

At the preacher’s area there was the basics, much like the hall. A podium, a table, and a bible for everyday sermons. However the wall behind it, in a neat half circle, was blazing with light. A neat line of thin candles were shelved onto the wall. And another behind and above that. And another. And another. Each line that was added removed two candles from the ends of the line. The towering wall of candles rose high until it nearly hit the ceiling, so close that they cut a hole in the ceiling for the very last candle. It was stacked so evenly it constructed its intended image perfectly.

A stairway to heaven.

On the stairs before the preacher’s area, a man kneeled. He mumbled out preaches and prayers to himself, as the thumb he bit on muffled out his speech. He finished, making a cross symbol with his hands as he stood up. He brushed the ends of his black robe, cleaning it of the light dust that always clung to the church floor.

Just like every night he looked up to the glowing wall. He unconsciously chewed on his thumb as he ran his fingers through his curly mess of blond hair. He stopped doing both when he saw something that caught his eye. The top candle was out.

This was odd, of course, the small hole in the ceiling was apart of the trapdoor used to help light the top candles. Naturally the only candles that were unlit were the ones in the uncomfortable middle.

He turned around to inform someone, but he turned back slowly. The top candle was still out, but something was also off about the two under it. Most notably, the flames flickered a light blue, and were nearly twice as tall as the other candles.

Before the man could process what it meant, the candles went out. He blinked.

Then the next row doubled in size and turned blue. Then they went out. Then the next row grew. Again. Again. The flames rose higher and higher every row that came down. On the last row the fire burned intensely, each two feet above a candle.

The man tripped as he staggered back. He breathed heavily as the flames erupted off of the candles. Each and every one jumped off and gravitated towards another. They slowly morphed together into a floating ice-light blue ball of flame.

The wisp hovered for a couple seconds. The man on the ground stuttered in his panic. It drifted towards him at a brief pace. With a gasp he quickly tried to backpedal away, but his hand slipped and his arm collided with the stone of the ground. He let out a sharp cry of pain as he grabbed his elbow.

He stuttered out to the two foot wide orb of flames a foot from his face. “A-are you an angel?” He closed his eyes before it could move any closer.

“No. I’m greater than that.”

“Y-you’re…!?” The man froze. The being was certainly of a higher plane. …Or lower. The tone of his voice was oddly prideful. “Are you… a demon?”

The wisp sighed (somewhat overdramatically). “No. Do you know anything? Angels have holy advantage over demon’s, get it right. How the hell am I supposed to be a demon but better than an angel?” It scoffed. “Duh.”

The man nervously looked away. “O-oh. U-uh… Then, um… Then y-you’re God?”

“Pff, might as well be. At least to you dumbasses.”

“W-why…” The man clutched his heart. He was having such trouble breathing. “Are you, are you here to punish m-me?”

“…What the fuck are you… You’re one of those prissy bishops right?”

The man shook his head, terrified.

“And you’re against the whole faggot-er, homosexual thing, right?”

The man’s pupils shrunk. “Yuh…Y-yes!” He shook uncontrollably. He could practically feel the scorching flames of hell engulfing him. He raised his arm in cover.

“Well that Antichrist douchebag has been sleeping with some other gay douchebag for the past 4 days. So go get them. Now.”

The man stopped shaking. He lowered his arm. “Hu-…huh?”

The doors at the beginning of the hall opened. A man politely walked through them.

“Bishop Bradley, I noticed the lights-FLAMING DIARRHEA ON MOTHER MARY’S FOREHEAD!” The man jumped at the sight of the flame, but it quickly flickered out of existence. The room was pitch black for a second, then the wall of candles relit.

The man rushed to Bradley on the ground. “Are you alright? Was that an angel?”

Bradley shook his head. “N-no. I…don’t know what it was.”

The man raised Bradley up by his shoulders. “Well? What did it say?”

“I-it said… that Lord Thorn had been sleeping with another man for days now.”

“He has!?” The man dropped Bradley. He grunted as he landed back on the ground. “Don’t you see!? It’s a sign, Bishop! We finally can be rid of this unholy menace to society!” He raised Bradley again. “Why would he tell us about it if we couldn’t strike? Quickly! We must get every good non-magic using believe in town now!”


	31. Get Along Little Doggy

“You’re sure you want to do this, Marjorine?” Pip whispered.

Pip was certainly worried as he looked up to the dressed woman above him. She was shaking nervously, was it because she kept herself high up by her arms?

“N-no. I ‘m sure. I need to do this. I need to. It’s just…” She glanced to the side.

“Is there a problem troubling you? I’d hate for you to be uncomfortable during this.”

“Well… I… does the fella there really have to be here?”

Pip looked to his side. Damien was haphazardly sprawled out on the very edge of the bed, asleep. “Damien? He just does that. It’s unfortunate he doesn’t know what he’s doing…” Pip scratched his chin. There wasn’t really much to do about the situation. They already tried politely pushing him onto some pillows on the ground, but he unconsciously got back onto the bed. And the ground was much too cold.

“Okay, okay. I’m fine with it. I can do it. It can work.” Marjorine mumbled out.

“After all, he probably would have expected the possibility of this happening. He shouldn’t be offended. You said it was a tradition, didn’t you Marjorine?”

“Y-yeah. Of course it is. All we gotta do is be quiet, alright.”

“You don’t need to do this if you don’t want to.” Pip said reassuringly.

“No, I do. I do. All we need… We just need some rules, yeah.” She nodded hesitantly.

Pip softly laughed. “Well I can’t argue against that.”

“O-okay, right. So, um, we can’t get too close. Our bodies, that is. And, uh, no chest touching. O-or my crotch.” He chuckled nervously. “Spose the same rules should go to you, I gotta be respectful being the maiden. …Oh! And we have to be fully clothed.”

Pip’s face blankened. “I’m… are you sure that’s how it works Marjorine?”

“Well, uh, we probably should take it s-slow, it’s both our first times and all.”

“Um, not to be a bother Marjorine but this isn’t my first-“

“Oh Pip!” Marjorine put her hands over her head. “I can’t take it anymore!”

“Oh my.” Pip got out from under her and sat on his knees. He wrapped his arm around her. “You should go to bed. I can’t blame you for not being ready.”

“N-no.” Marjorine rubbed her arms. “No I gotta. I gotta do it.” She started breathing heavily. “Dad told me a real woman was one of those maidens. I-I could be a real woman.” She wiped her forehead of sweat. “He told me they’re supposed to please.”

“But Marjorine, you shouldn’t be obligated to please me like… that.”

“I know, I do.” She sniffled. “Because I can’t please you Pip. I just can’t. I’m a freak.”

“Marjorine, no you’re fine. I’m positive you could please me!” Pip got quiet and blinked a couple of times. “…Wait I don’t think that came out right.”

“Y-you’ll just see me as a disgusting monster! That’s just what I’m supposed to be…”

“Marjorine.” Pip placed his hands on both her shoulders and made eye contact. “You are absolutely beautiful. And you don’t need to please me to prove it. Because you’re a beautiful woman for just being one.”

“I-I’m…!? But what if I-?“ Marjorine gulped. “C-can you keep a secret Pip?”

“If it truly makes you feel better, than I’d be happy to.” Pip nodded.

“Well I…I…” Her breath became sharp bursts. “I have a wiener!” She sputtered out.

Pip’s eyes widened. He silently looked back at her. “Um. …And?”

Marjorine glanced back and forth, confused. “Wha-What?”

“Are you saying it’s infected? Or… Do you feel you’re too inexperienced with it?”

“I-You-But!” Her words quickly turned to mush in a panic. She shook wildly.

“Marjorine! Shhhh, shhhh.” Pip cradled her. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“Pip it’s not okay! I’ve got a wiener! Shouldn’t you offended we might have had sex?”

Pip shrugged, not sure what to say. “Why would I?”

“A-aren’t women supposed to not have them? You might have touched it!”

“I mean… I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that, Marjorine.”

“But… But my dad said that… I’m not natural and-“

“Look. This isn’t about your dad. It’s about you, and this is completely natural.”

“…It is?” Marjorine rubbed her knuckles nervously.

“Of course. Because the thing that makes you a woman…” He tapped her forehead. “…Is right up here. The rest of your body is your unique features. Half the population has a, *ahem*, wiener, why shouldn’t you? You’re a perfectly healthy woman.”

“I’m a woman…” She narrowed her eyes. “I…AM a woman. I’m a woman! Right?”

Pip chuckled. “Of course you are! …But maybe we should be a little more quiet?”

Marjorine glanced to Damien, still lightly snoring. “I’d be surprised if the fella ever woke up. He’s a pretty heavy sleeper to get through that.”

Pip scratched his cheek. “It’s certainly made the past few night a little easier…”

“Pip…” Marjorine hugged Pip. “I can’t thank ya enough for the help.”

Pip patted her on the back. “Don’t worry about it, Marjorine. After all, you deserve to be happy about your body like anyone else.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” She hopped off the bed. “I’ve been repressin’ myself for so long. I gotta be open about myself!” She giggled. “Though I guess I wanna be open to someone privately too… Heh heh, and just after we talked about not needing it.”

“Well, it’s not like you can stop your desires.” Pip shrugged. “I suppose I’m here if you really want that. I’m not taken.”

Marjorine shook her head, smiling. “Heh, aw heck Pip. I think I’d be happy getting with someone half as accepting as you are. After all…” She walked over to the door and opened it. She turned back to Pip, but nodded to Damien. “From what you’ve said, I’d say you’re practically taken now.”

“Wait, you mean me and Dami-“ He got interrupted by the door closing. “Uh… So I’ll just- I’ll just lay here? …Okay. Right.” He pulled the covers over him. Yeesh, her too?


	32. What a Nightlight!

Pip shook Damien’s shoulder. “Um… Damien, Damien please wake up.”

Damien stirred. He cracked his eye open, but tightly closed it immediately. Once again, he woke up to a blinding light. He groaned, as he already realized what happened. “I just… I want it to stop.” He buried his head in the pillow.

Pip nodded nervously. He tried waiting for a response, but quickly broke down. “…Now Damien I don’t want to be a bother, but we’re somewhat surrounded.”

Damien was still for a second, but when he looked over his shoulder he shot up.

To put it bluntly, it wasn’t morning. The light was less of a giant ball of fire in space shining down to the ground, and more a lit torch 6 inches away from Damien’s face.

Embarrassingly, Damien had failed to notice the large angry mob wielding torches and pitchforks all standing around the bed he woke up in.

A thought crossed Damien’s mind. “…What?”

“Unholy one!” A man stepped forward from the sea of people. Judging from him attire, he was a priest. “We have finally received a message, from God himself! Your time of rule is over! Prepare to face…!” He ripped off the wooden cross from his necklace and tightly gripped it. “…The vengeance of all that is sacred!”

Time moved in slow motion as the priest lunged at Damien. He wielded the cross with the energy of a weapon. He let out a cry of victory as he forcefully pressed it against Damien’s bare chest. Damien looked down to the collision in surprise.

The entire room was silent as the confrontation ended and the priest backed away. The cross calmly slid down Damien’s chest and under the blanket. Damien stared down at where the cross disappeared, blinked, and looked up at the priest.

“…Are you mocking me?”

The priest’s mouth hung agape. “How is this possible? Not even a flinch!? That is the great symbol of Christianity! Your natural repellent that-“

“Is a minor hunk of wood cut out into the letter t?” Damien furrowed his eyebrows. He started to raise himself by his hands. “If you wish to burn-“

“Um, Damien.” Pip placed his hand on Damien’s arm. “…You’re pajamas?”

Damien let out a huff and got back down. He shouldn’t have cared, but when Pip worried he felt like complying. He shook his head. It was probably for the better, being the direct threat of a good twenty people was not good for popularity.

“…Oh no!” The priest finally burst out. The other people in the room seemed too nervous to talk. “Don’t tell me-!? The cross touched the most unholy of skin?!”

“Touched the-?” Damien’s eyes fell in disappointment. “No.” He raised the blanket., just high enough so he could see. “It fell beyond my thigh before it could reach it.” Damien paused. He reached under the blanket and shuffled a bit.

Damien looked back to the priest. “…NOW it has touched-“

The priest shrieked and limply fell back, unconscious. An unarmed man with curly blond hair caught him.

Damien rubbed his temple. He looked to the rest of the people in the room, then back to the priest with a grimace. “Your threats are unimpressive when the leader falls to something so minor. Can you leave now?”

“W-well…” The bishop holding the priest up spoke. “It was his personal one after all. And you, you have touched th-the flesh down there with him… haven’t you?”

Both Pip’s and Damien’s eyes widened. Pip looked back and forth, then pointed to himself. To make sure he was being addressed. “You mean sex?” He raised his eyebrows when the man nodded. He waved his hands defensively. “Oh no chaps, you’ve got it all wrong! See, Damien’s got this nasty sleepwalking habit. He’s kept walking into my bed thinking it’s his own.“

“Oh sure!” A man piped up from the crowd, and raised his hands to mimic quotation marks. “The Antichrist just “accidently” managed to “sleepwalk” to your “bed” while “naked” at “night”, just so he “sleeps” with “you”?”

Pip narrowed his eyes. “…Yes, actually.”

“There is no use in denying your affinities.” Another man chimed in. “We have all the evidence we need to know you two are having intercourse.”

The bishop looked up. “H-hey, wait. The specter did only say they were sleeping-“

“Gay! Bad! GRRR!” Yelled a man in the back.

“…Thank you for the contribution, Tim.” Said the second man. “We all can agree here, homosexuality is and always will be against the nature of God.”

Damien furrowed his eyebrows. This was the ideal people tried to take him down with? Why couldn’t they take him down with something actually important, or actually a quality of him, like, I don’t know, BEING THE ANTICHRIST?

“Well I don’t think so.”

Damien raised an eyebrow. He looked to Pip, whose mouth was tensed.

The man seemed annoyed. “And how many times have you read the Bible?”

“Ten times.” Pip chirped out.

Damien’s mouth fell and pupils shrunk. He crossed his arms as he turned to the blond. Pip was religious? Like, really religious?

The man’s face twisted in disgust. “How dare you! Blatantly ignoring Adam and Eve! The bible never accepted such scum. Have you not read Leviticus 20: 13?”

Pip counted on his fingers. “Adam and Eve were the only male and women in existence, so that’s more of a reproduction for survival story. Jesus healed a man’s male love slave from a sickness and didn’t care. And my Jewish sports coach, er, physical trainer pointed out that Leviticus 20:13 was a mistranslation. It’s actually forbidding doing anything in a women’s bed with someone else.”

The room was silent, besides the flickering of the torches. The man tightened his fist. “You have no chance of proving those people are condemning themselves to hell.”

Pip’s mouth hung open a little. He glanced, confused, between people of the crowd. They seemed to agree. Pip slowly gestured to Damien. “Um… All right, Damien. You can tell them.”

Damien blinked. “Excuse me? Tell them what?”

“Well you ARE the Antichrist, Damien. You of all people should know about this.”

“Oh. Right.” Damien rubbed his cheek. “…Well it does work like sex between a man and woman. As long as it’s healthy, such as not cheating, then it’s fine.”

The man stuttered out in anger. “You will not-!“

“I’m DONE here. This was a miserable attempt.” Damien snapped his fingers. All the torches in the room went out, and his hand burst into a massive ball of flame.

“Now get out.”


	33. Three’s a Crowd

The bishop grunted as he finally dragged the priest out of the bedroom. His rather weak physique made it quite difficult to move the heavy man, and it was especially difficult after everyone quickly scrambled to leave the room before helping. This left the hallway quite empty long before he managed to shuffle out.

Putting his hand on the door, he stuttered out a quick “S-sorry” to the two men sitting in the bed. He was especially nervous of the raven haired man’s glare, for more reasons than one, but the polite look to the man next to him did ease the tension a little bit. He very slowly shut the door. He winced at the squeaks it made.

Finally the door closed shut. Only the man’s heavy breath was left to accompany him, in addition to a murmur from the unconscious priest time to time.

He thought back to what had just happened. He was told since childhood that the holy book was absolute, no matter what it was fact. But one of the men there expressed the possibility, so casually, that the book was filled with mistranslations and assumptions? He tried to shake the lingering thought out of his head. He had repressed it ever since the first dark day in the Church basement.

“Am I… normal?”

“Of course you are, my son.”

“Oh, well, that’s a relief-Woahah!” The man let out a yelp. The air around him became tinted blue as he turned around. A large wisp floated behind him.

“Do not be afraid. I am here to tell you everything is going to plan.”

Bradley lowered his arms from their defensive stance. “You’re… not angry? …Huh?”

Bradley took a closer look at the ball of flame. Unlike the fire wisp from the church, which was an ice blue and sputtered out random bursts of flames, this one seemed more contained. A darker blue, a deeper voice, and a plasma-like form made it seem different than earlier.

“We talked at the church today… didn’t we?”

The flame chuckled (wisp lungs?). “We’ve talked many a times at the church before, but today you didn’t meet a figure such as I. He will deal you no trouble now.”

“O-oh, that’s good. I think.” He ruffled his hair. “So I shall go back to the church?”

The flame hovered closer to him. “No. Now listen carefully. You shall pack up your belongings at the church and leave. That church was built using the blood labor of many poverty stricken innocents. Also it’s going to burn down in a week due to the faulty design of putting all the candles in the building next to a wood wall.”

“Oh. That’s fine, y-yeah.” He started to chew on his thumb again, which muffled his voice a little. “Bishops don’t have to live at the church. Is there anything else?”

“Yes, and you can become romantically involved too.”

“…Wait, you mean with another?” Bradley nervously looked away.

“That’s what romantically involved means, yes. Specifically with a blonde woman.”

Bradley flinched. “A w-woman? But-“

“-With a sea foam green dress on. Who bends metal.”

“Wait. um-“

“-And a scar over her left eye.”

Bradley blinked. “…You mean Marjorine? I’ve talked with her before, but…”

“No, you should manage. And you should start living with her.”

“Living with-“ His eyes widened. “Wouldn’t that mean- B-but, I’m a bishop. Bishops practice celibacy. We can’t get married or... have sexual relations.”

“Mh-hmm. Now may I remind you that I, God, am telling you to do it anyway?”

“…” Bradley stared at the hovering light source for a couple of seconds. He sighed, how was he going to argue with that? But he wasn’t attracted to women. Shouldn’t God know that? What’s the point of saying he’s normal if won’t go through with it?

“You’ll learn, all in due time. And remember to be honest about your interests from the beginning. You won’t have a relationship without it.” The orb quickly floated up. Bradley couldn’t even squeak out a response fast enough, as the wisp phased through the ceiling and out of sight. Not even leaving a burn mark.

Bradley looked around the hallway to see if anyone saw what happened. With no one in sight (Conscious, at least) he nodded. “…Okay…” With a grunt he picked the priest up again and began to drag him. A little ways down the hallway he stopped. The sound of a toilet flushing reverberated through the air. He looked to the source and saw a door with a hole in it. It glowed an unnaturally ice blue color. He winced, knowing what was coming. Out of the hole popped out another wisp, with some toilet paper hanging off of it as it came out. It let out a sigh of relief.

“Alright. Talk to me.”

“Uh, you didn’t…?” Bradley pointed to where he talked to the other wisp. He quickly pulled back and chewed on his thumb. “Um, sorry, nevermind. Nobody’s dead.”

“No-WHAT!?” The fuck! You church assholes are experienced with burning people!”

Bradley frowned. “Churches don’t… shouldn’t burn people. And Lord Thorn has complete control over all fire. We may have assumed that…you would have helped?”

“Help?” The wisp sighed. “Goddammit. Every time. You people had one fucking job! Just kill the Antichrist, sheesh. Screw this, I’m going to someone else.”

“Um, wait, are you going to-?” The wisp immediately hopped back into the restroom, followed by another flush of the toilet. “Right. Of course. I’ll just-yeah.”

He looked at the door. Didn’t that count as trouble? “God” was a little vague on that. He shrugged, either way he was done with whatever that angry ball of fire was.

He picked up the priest again, who was probably not in good shape. What with the collisions with the ground from Bradley dropping him and all. A couple pulls from Bradley was quickly interrupted by the sound of footsteps. A woman ran up to him.

“Ah geez, is everything alright? I saw a big crowd of people passin’ with sticks, and was worried about Pip. Did he get hurt like this guy here? …Um, you okay mister?”

A bead of sweat went down Bradley’s forehead. The blonde woman with the left eye scar in the sea foam green dress was standing in front of him. A thought kept repeating in his head. “What do I do? What do I do? What do I do?” Should he say about the whole God encounter? Oh, why oh why did so many amazingly significant figures in his life have to appear in the same hallway at the same time?

“A-are you an angel? Because God told me you’re perfect for me.”

Marjorine tilted her head. “What? Somethin’ wrong with your head Bishop Bradley?”

“I… would like to ask your permission to be romantically involved with me.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Uh, sure? I know we’re not too close, but you seem awfully polite about it…” She chuckled. “Wow. Guess I wasn’t expecting someone this fast.”

“Aw shucks, guess we can’t be together if you like men…” Marjorine silenced, then blinked. A smile creeped up onto her face. “Actually, I don’t know, Bradley, I’ve got a feeling a mighty big surprise is in store.” She scratched her chin playfully. “I don’t know about you, but this could make a romance kinda hard. Although…” She gave him a wink. “I spose we could try it out. Let me just help you with this guy to the church, then you can come to my place so we could start the basics.”

Marjorine blinked. A smirk creeped up onto her face. “I don’t know, Bradley, I’ve got a feeling a mighty big surprise is in store.” She scratched her chin playfully. “I don’t know about you, but this could make a romance kinda hard. Although…” She gave him a wink. “I spose we could try it out. Let me just help you with this guy to the church, then you can come to my place so we could start the basics.”

Bradley whimpered as they picked up the priest and walked off.


	34. The D Club

Bright rays of light poured in from the window, they revealed scattered papers and quills on multitudes of tables and parts of the floor. Smoke arose from a freshly blown out candle, as the occupant in the room felt it was no longer needed.

The scroll room was, at least to Wendyl, the most important room in the whole castle. Probably because he wrote all of the scrolls there. Being parallel to the library, a vast collection of information was also stored there. Info on events, people, costs of repairs because of Damien, and other miscellaneous. The room was given a special metal wall, also in case of Damien’s hissy fits, to protect the shelves of paper.

Due to being the only trustworthy person to Damien with info, Wendyl was currently the only occupant of the castle who could freely enter the room. Special access is allowed for those who want to update any information about themselves. But, with no cleaners allowed and Wendyl’s busy schedule, quite the layer of dust has collected on those deceased or events long past.

Wendyl blew at his tea, much like the candle, to cool it down. Steam hazed off of it. After Pip had began edging ever closer to Damien’s personal life, Wendyl decided to try tea as a first. It was okay. But okay was better than the dirt water he tried called alcohol. And while the water system in the castle certainly was more advanced than neighboring kingdoms, it was more cleaning water than drinking water.

He shrugged to himself. Either way it kept his energy up, something he definitely needed over the past night. A long night of researching and filing all of the names of the people of last nights mob lasted until sunrise. Luckily due to Damien’s sleep habits all activities that involved him and Wendyl were scheduled hours later.

He stretched and yawned. Apparently the tea wasn’t enough. He felt dead tired, and rightfully so. With nothing to do for some time, he stared at the scrolls. The soft, pillowy, cloud-like scrolls. Before passing out and landing headfirst on them that is.

Later, Wendyl let out a grunt as he felt someone shake his back.

“Wendyl? Are you alright? Wendyl do you need anything?”

Wendyl looked up to Stan for a moment in confusion, then shook his head. Stan got special-er access to the scroll room for one reason, Wendyl. Stan still didn’t know how to make furniture so he pretended that he needed Wendyl to research it at any time, but Wendyl knew Stan just was doing it to check on or comfort him.

Wendyl dismissed Stan’s worrisome thoughts. “No, I’m fine. Just tired. Thanks for that. Do you know how much longer till-?”

“Damien’s public thing? It should be in about an hour. You’re fine. Hey, uh, Bradley wanted to see you.” He stepped aside, behind him was a man with curly blond hair.

Wendyl blinked and narrowed his eyes. Then he sat up straight when he recognized the man’s attire. “Ah, bishop Bradley. What brings you here?”

“O-oh, um…” He bit his finger. A bead of sweat went down his forehead. “…I just wanted to update some info.”

“Of course.” Wendyl nodded to Stan. He nodded back with a smile and left out the door. “Now you are aware of your involvement last night, correct?”

“Y-yes, I know. I wanted to come back to apologize.” He wiped his forehead. “…Can I apologize?” He shook a little as Wendyl stood up, but he only got up for some tea that had been heated up by the light at a window. He poured some into a cup.

“Well, no actual damage was done, so don’t worry about being thrown in jail.” He motioned his head away from them, signaling for Bradley to follow. “But I can’t say that you’re on Lord Thorn’s list for any public benefits.” He sipped at the tea.

They walked through the rows of the room. Shelves of alphabetized scrolls were in the back as records of the population. The shelves were generally very small, as most files on people were intentionally small and simple. That didn’t stop a few of them from being stuffed with troublemaker’s records, though.

Hovering his finger over the labels, Wendyl got to a shelf with a good four scrolls and tapped on it. “Alright, what do you want updated, bishop?”

“Um, well, just that. I got banished from the church. I’m not a bishop anymore.”

Wendyl raised an eyebrow. “Really? What for?” He pulled out one of the scrolls.

“I think everyone was still bothered by last night. When I said I was going to apologize, on top of me moving out, they prohibited me from returning.”

“Glad to hear that you managed to find a place to stay.” Wendyl’s eyes wandered up in thought. “Wait, did you move out before or after you wanted to apologize?” He reached over to pull out another scroll.

“I quickly got out before that. I never have much to pack…” He scratched the back of his neck. “Um, I suppose you’ll have to update for Marjorine too, won’t you?”

Wendyl furrowed his eyebrows. “Marjorine? Like, Marjorine Stotch? You’re moving in with her?” He didn’t know how to take that. Marjorine seemed so afraid of letting anyone even sleep in her house just a couple days ago.

“Oh yes, I am. She was so kind about it. I was surprised she suggested it first…”

First? What did that mean? Wendyl gave him a quick side glare. While Bradley had been a bishop for quite some time, that didn’t mean he was trustworthy. “Alright. I’ll get her file if that’s the case.” They walked through the rows, Wendyl was quick to locate Marjorine’s shelf, and they made their way back to the table.

Wendyl opened one of the scrolls and examined the details on it. It was structured like a modern day file (Wendyl wouldn’t have it any other way), just for easy updates. He found place of stay, examined it’s size, and pulled out a spare scroll paper, a knife, and a container of a glue-like substance. He wrote on the spare paper and started to cut it out. “So, what inclined you to move in with Marjorine?”

“Um, when the priest fainted I was the only one from the church left to drag him. Uh… nothing happened between then. But Marjorine saw the mob pass in the halls and wanted to make sure everything was okay. She offered to carry him with me.”

Wendyl covered Bradley’s old information with the new paper. He closely listened to what Bradley had to say. After all, he knew Marjorine was gone when the mob came, but he didn’t know she came back a little later.

“Well, I told her something about me when we began to carry him. I don’t know what came over me, but I did. Anybody at the church would’ve thought to crucify me for it. And yet… She was happy for me. She even liked how I was so honest with her.”

“What were you so honest to her about?”

Bradley rubbed his knuckles together. “That’s the, uh, funny thing. She changed my opinion on what I said to her. For the longest time I thought I could only be attracted to, *cough*, certain people because of my preferences on what was… down there.”

Wendyl raised an eyebrow. “Is that why you’re moving in with Marjorine?”

“No! No, I wouldn’t, I couldn’t to her… For the first time in my life I felt like someone was really talking to me. And she was so happy to be around me and… I think I’m happy around her. She even taught me that there are people like her. Those who have… She, um…” Bradley bit his thumb. He was struggling to finish the sentence.

“…Has what, Bradley” Wendyl stared accusingly.

“She… I… No, I can’t do it.” He mumbled out behind his thumb. “That’s private.”

Wendyl brought the cup of tea to his lips. “Well at least you care about her privacy.” Wendyl already assumed Marjorine was trans, but it looks like that confirmed it. A smile curled up on him as he took another sip of the tea. The thought of Marjorine getting together with someone who honestly cared for her was heartwarming. And the look of regret, for just that vague info, on Bradley’s face reassured the thought.

His smile fell and he put the cup down. In fact he felt… a little envious of her.

The sound of a door opening drew both of their attentions to a near wall. “Uh, Wendyl, it looks like a certain someone wants to join- wha-hey!”

A blonde woman quickly sprinted past Stan and practically jumped onto Bradley, engulfing him in a hug. Wendyl chuckled and took a deeper drink of the tea.

“Bradley, there you are! I’ve been lookin’ all over for ya. Tryin’ to tell Wendyl all about last night, were you? Did you tell him about how I have a weiner?”


	35. At Yeast It Was Custom Made

“W-wait, did she just-“

Wendyl’s eyes bulged out as tea blasted out of his mouth and splattered onto Bradley’s scroll. He quickly hunched over the table as he hacked and heaved.

Marjorine blinked at the commotion. “…What?”

Bradley lightly tugged at Marjorine’s dress. “M-Marjorine… that’s not something you should confess to anyone. There are so many people who’d find it wrong, or disgusting, or harmful. They’d assume I’m a homosexual as well too…”

“You didn’t tell him you’re gay too?”

“B-but I thought last night was proving I wasn’t gay because I was attracted to you!”

“…What?” Marjorine scratched her head. “I thought you were attracted to men and women with wieners? Aren’t you bi?” She leaned in towards Wendyl. “That’s how it works, right Wendyl? You’ve told me a bunch ‘a this stuff before. Too bad I only started really gettin’ it when Pip told me about girls and wieners yesterday.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I mean, I believe it does yes.” Wendyl sighed. He had talked to her before on people’s sexualities, but he always found himself backing off about gender problems. He felt a little relieved that Pip stepped in for him.

“But…” Bradley narrowed his eyes at Wendyl. “Why would you know so much about people’s sexual habits?”

“Please don’t drag me into this.” Wendyl eyed Stan walking over to them.

Stan nonchalantly leaned on Wendyl’s side. “At least you’re not. . . coming out to it.”

Wendyl glared at him. “Stan. Not helping.” He motioned to the door.

Stan shrugged as he walked back to the door. He crossed his arms and let out a humph once the door shut. He understood the conversation was more than private, but come on, that one was great!

Wendyl coughed into his fist. He’d have to flub the facts a little on this one. “Ah… Anyway, you’d be surprised how many people come here instead of the church for these kind of things. Since I’m strictly told to not share personal information.”

Bradley looked to Marjorine. “He told you people’s personal information?”

Marjorine dismissed the thought. “Nah, he just told me about them in general. Never said who’s attracted to who, you know.”

Bradley was drenched in worry. He jumped onto the idea that he could be attracted to women so quickly he forgot that he was still attracted to lots of men for the same reasons. He still wanted the church to like him. He hated how ingrained such ideas were in his head. “Y-yes. Wendyl, may you please say I’m, uh, bi? I-in the scroll?”

“Of course. You might have to wait a little bit though.” He picked the scroll up from one end and gave it a little shake. Tea droplets shook off it. Thank goodness he only used best anti-smudge ink he could find. “It’ll have to dry first.”

“Oh, good. In the meantime we can update my scroll!” Marjorine said excitedly.

Wendyl nodded as he shuffled through the dry scrolls on the table. “Ah… here we are. I’ll add in about Bradley moving in with you…“ He picked up a quill.

“And my wiener.”

“…Yes, that too.” Wendyl rubbed his temple. Would it be a good idea to write it down? Even though he was only allowed in the place now there would certainly have to be people that would follow him in line. Would Marjorine want that?

“So it all started when before I was born. You see, my-“

“What are you doing?” Wendyl’s eyebrows scrunched together.

“Tellin’ you about why I’m a woman, of course.”

“Oh no, you don’t need to do that Marjorine. You’re just as valid as any other woman.” Wendyl already knew, from crash course experience, the general steps of a gender transition. Although… she DID say it started before she was born.

“No, I’m saying there’s a real good story behind it is all.”

Wendyl stared blankly at her for a second, then cautiously bent over to get a blank scroll from under the table. “Alright… so what made you female?”

“Baked goods.”

Wendyl’s quill stopped suddenly. He blankly looked at the scroll, before his head rose as slowly as it could to face her. Bradley looked as well.“…Baked goods.”

“Yep! A loaf of bread, if we’re bein’ specific.”

“Now, Marjorine… I do believe that you’re a woman. I truly do.” He placed his hands together and gestured to her. “But are you sure you aren’t mistaken about something?”

“No, why would I? She definitely told me they stole from her bakery…”

“Who stole from who?” Asked Bradley quietly.

“Uh, my parents stole from that one baker… Mrs. Crabtree?”

“Crabtree?” Bradley’s voice rose up in concern. “She was an old-fashioned witch before she died, why would your parents steal from her?”

“Uh, from what she told me… they did it as a joke.” She looked a little surprised at the silence that followed. “Uh, something about them not believing the rumors that she’d take a family’s firstborn son if you stole from her? They walked right in, she was at the counter, and they took a loaf off the shelf without paying. She told ‘em she’d do it, but they just laughed and left out the door.”

Wendyl stared, no words forming in his mouth, save for one. “…Really?”

“Yeah, it sounded like somethin’ they’d do. …You’re getting this down right?”

Wendyl snapped to attention and quickly started to write. “Token Black’s bakery?”

“Uh yeah, that’s the one. Anyway, so they didn’t believe her and went on in their lives and had me. But just when I was born she showed up and told them to ‘cough it up’. Though I ‘spose she did it a lot more yelley than that.”

“Oh gosh… what happened after that?” Bradley had been listening intensely. Thumb in his mouth and all.

“They pretended that I was a baby girl. Said I didn’t count. She didn’t buy it. But she didn’t take me and told my parents they’d get the daughter they claimed to have, and then she cursed me to never be able to wear men’s clothes for my whole life!”

“I’m sorry to hear that Marjorine. Do you mean, like, no pants, no dress shirts, just dresses?” Wendyl said in between her writing.

“Uh…” She bit her lip. “See, that’s the funny thing. I actually tried every piece of clothing on from a men’s clothing shop and nothing happened.”

Wendyl stopped again. “So… you weren’t cursed?”

“Uh, well, once I put on this knitted shirt my mother gave me which said ‘I AM A BOY’ on it and it evaporated? She tried it a couple times on me.”

Wendyl blinked. “What a strangely… progressive witch.”

“Either way my parents bought it. They dressed me up and all that, but they didn’t let me around anyone. Even before I found out lots of women don’t have wieners they were telling me I was lonely because I wasn’t a real girl…” She frowned.

Bradley furrowed his eyebrows. Marjorine’s parents felt… oddly familiar. He looked back and forth, thinking, before putting his hand on Marjorine’s shoulder. “B-but you are a woman, and such a beautiful one too, Marjorine.”

Marjorine gave him a half smile. “Aw, thanks Bradley.” She rubbed her eye to stop it from tearing up. “Anyway, I eventually moved away from my parents into the place where I make metal now. That’s when Mrs. Crabtree showed up. She apologized for what she did to me. At least I think she was, she was kind of yellin’ shrilly… Uh, so she said she’d make it up to me, then a big flash of light happened, and then she was gone. I think she was found in her bakery?”

“Yes, I do believe that’s where she was found when deceased.” Wendyl placed the quill down. “Now was there anything that happened after that?”

“Oh no, definitely not. I mean, I started metal bending on my own in a week and I found this fancy cloak in my closet, but that’s nothin’ special right?”

Wendyl blinked. Silence accompanied the room. She wrote down that last bit of info on the scroll. “…Alright Marjorine. You’re good to go. You can go too Bradley.”

“All right!” She hugged Bradley. “See? Everything’s all right after all.”

“Uh, before you go Marjorine.” Wendyl stopped them from standing up and exiting. “Maybe we should meet tonight here. And can you… uh, bring that cloak you were talking about?”

“Oh sure, I can bring it. But you’ll have to be quick. I’m teaching Bradley all about metal magic tonight, if you know what I am saying.” She snapped to Wendyl. “Cause you can bet…” She gave him a wink. “I’ll be rock hard around ‘em.”

“Marjorine I’m not sure that’s how it wor-“ Wendyl winced as the door slammed behind them. He sighed and rolled up the scroll. He yawned. He was still tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why, but a part of me feels like this chapter is off somehow? It might just be because it's the longest one so far.


	36. Kentucky Fried Hellspawn

“Close the doors. That will be the final one for tonight.”

Damien grimaced as his fingertips rubbed his forehead. He was glad that the very last one today has some sensibility to it, but sweet Lucifer was today miserable. Walking away from the throne and the room was practically a blessing now.

Token Black, the baker, had received 5 requests this week to join as a warrior on quests. It was Tuesday. As such he had to request an official decree of his disinterest in adventuring, as most ignored the man’s sign in front. Token said he was sick of people saying he had “The Warrior’s Spirit” in his blood and whatnot.

That made sense to Damien. It was practical, straightforward, and, most importantly, someone looking out for themself. But really, could a couple people possibly follow in his image?

The quiet of the hallway eased his mind, but unfortunately was not enough to ease the frustrations built up over the course of the day.

It really must have been last night that made him realize to incompetence of the general public. Using fire-based weapons against a demon was one thing, but they all agreed on it so quickly, so excited to bring him to an end that got to him.

Every sniveling, whining, foolish request of the kingdom decided to make itself known today. Every pointless demand imaginable was thrown at him. And really, why not? Wasn’t he just a fool to them? Some sort of tool that shouldn’t be taken seriously? After all, an angry mob can just waltz right into the castle without swift repercussions, surely he’d put up with anyone’s crap? Damien stopped walking.

Was he a fool to Pip?

He blinked. An unexpected thought, but not one without reason. He had certainly been… exposed to the man over the past month and a half. Quite a number of less-than-ideal details about himself too. But did the blond think he was a fool? Probably not. Pip was simply too respectful around him to think he was one.

In fact, a little too respectful. And a little too comfortable in their close proximities. Damien resented it, but he knew what that could mean.

Damien grunted as he looked out a near window. He understood the consequences of finding a partner, better than anyone. Unlike many of the people who resided in this world, his heritage would only bring his love a punishment so unbearably vile.

He closed his eyes. Images of the deepest, darkest pits of brimstone and flames flashed across them. Filled with billions of bodies scorched over eons and skewered on spikes to hang, only able to moan or brush up against one another. Holes upon holes of that littered the seemingly endless cave of suffering. All the same.

But of course, there was the worst one. It was like every other hole, besides a door at the bottom and some minor decorations really. Spikes on the walls, a massive hole, and lava of unfathomable pain were all there.

Yet it was hollow. It was quiet. The only sounds in it were reverberations from outside sneaking in. But that made sense. It was meant to hold only one occupant.

At the bottom of the hole sat a hulking, blood red creature. It’s legs distorted and bent to be like those of a hairless goat loosely hung off the red stained stone throne. Horns jutted out like curved spikes out of the bald red head. Its ears were sharp, as they had to in order to distinguish between the moans and yells. The yellow, dead eyes of the hulking red monster were sunken in, lifeless from an eternity of the most cursed individuals sufferings.

Damien could already see it. The guttural hollow breathing that came with its opening mouth. Fangs irregular sharpened like knives across all kinds of rusty metals appearing. Acids and poisons of all kinds coming out of the deepest, crustiest parts of the creature’s burnt black heart hanging off the edge of its bloody throat.

Satan could only unleash such disgust and filth in the way that he was expected to.

“*Whistle* Wow son, what a catch! And on your first try too? Let me get my camera.”

Damien shuddered at the thought. NO. He could not let that happen. He’d rather die.

His father was nothing more than wasted potential because of his interests. Sidetracked by the pettiest of needs for his current lover. He once respected his father for his cunning and leadership skills. Once.

He could be better than that. Damien could do something that his father never could be. He would be focused, and the Antichrist he was meant to be. Who he had to be.

Pip twiddled his thumbs together as he laid on the bed. A faint whistle came out of his mouth, one to the tune of an old English childhood rhyme he couldn’t hope to remember the lyrics to. He had finished his last book in the guest room, and he couldn’t just leave now to get another, that would be rude. All he could really do was wait. It would be a while till the time Damien started sleepwalking.

After being told that Damien might just… want to be in his bed, Pip felt obliged to keeping it at least tidy for him. It was a little embarrassing, due to the Antichrist’s inability to recognize patterns (On both actions and needs for pajamas). He was just glad that Marjorine agreed to letting Damien have all the covers yesterday.

The creaking of a door caught his attention. Pip shuffled up to face the front of the room. Standing in the door was Damien, fully dressed in sleep wear and carrying a fully sized blanket. He walked over to the bed, pushed Pip’s blanket out of the way, and plopped onto the bed without a word. He quickly curled up in the bedding.

“Um… something wrong Damien? This isn’t your room.” Pip checked outside. It was dark, but not quite that “Antichrist sleepwalking into your room” dark.

“It’s always been my room. I own it.” Damien’s voice was gravely, well, as much as it could be with that high pitch. “And if I can only wake up here, then I will sleep here.”

“I suppose I can’t argue with that.” Pip scratched his chin. “Do you… normally try to go to sleep this early? Or do you have official business early tomorrow morning?”

Damien raised his hand up mockingly. “Oh yes, I’d like to be conscious when the town wide angry mob comes. Perhaps I’ll let them scorch me and get it over with.”

Pip frowned, his arms crossed. “But Damien, surely most of your citizens respect and honor you? They’d never actually do that.”

Damien shuffled and leaned up and a little out from the bed sheets. For once in his life Pip got an unsatisfied glare that was called for.

Pip bit his lip. “…Alright so maybe they would. But aren’t their lives so much better because of you?” He gave his best smile.

“Of course.” Damien let out a huff as his open peat beat his pillow. “That’s all it’s been for. So much time has been given to them. I’ve listened to them, I’ve given them resources, I’ve given them a greater standard of living and law system.” 

He raised his hands and shook them in frustration. “And instead they blabber on about some nonsense about a man obsessed with chicken intercourse! Why are they so insistent on some maniac’s deviations and laying the blame on me!? The king should be at blame for such naivety? Why!? Who would prepare for that!”

Pip staggered back on the bed, surprised. “Um, I-“

“And to add on that all of them believe the chickens to be inedible because of possible diseases the man could have had. We’ve already captured the man. Because he already DIED of the diseases the chickens gave him! We found him in a ditch halfway through the conference today!” Damien groaned and rubbed his temple.

Pip tilted his head, curious. “So, mission accomplished and whatnot? You must feel fancied to have that done and over with in a day.”

“Oh, don’t bother.” Damien curled back up in his blanket. “Like that was the only complaint. I’ve had enough of today. I don’t see how I could feel better about it, too”

A thought struck Pip. While Damien was still tense, and had been very animated just now, the second he said the last thought he became noticeably calmer. Maybe…?

“Would you like to talk more about it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw man, sorry for the delay! Hope I didn't struggle too much with this chapter, heh heh.


	37. Shine Bright Like Candle Light

The sound of a distant knocking caught Wendyl’s attention. He double checked the scroll on the table, then walked over to the door.

Once the outside swung open, the darkness of the night made itself abundantly clear to the man in the doorway. The light of the candles seemed useless as the ground beyond the doorframe stayed engulfed in inky black. It spilled into the room quietly.

As quietly as a cloaked figure yelling and jumping on the man could be, mind you.

Wendyl lurched back in surprise. The figure wrapped their arms around him at the shoulders and latched on. They sunk a little as they hung off of Wendyl’s shoulders.

Wendyl blinked and looked down at the figure leaning on him. His mouth etched into a grin. “Aren’t you a little short for an Ancient, Marjorine?”

The figure got up and pulled back their hood. “Aw, how’d you know it was me? …Am I that short?”

“Oh no, you got me, don’t worry.” That was the first pop culture joke he’d made in some time. Not like Marjorine would ever get it. “Come in, Marjorine.”

“Uh, this isn’t gonna be too long, is it Wendyl? Bradley’s only just moved in and I want to make sure he’s comfy.” She pulled off the cloak and put it neatly on the table.

“Don’t you only have one bed?” Wendyl sideglanced her with a smirk, but turned back to the cloak and ran his fingers through it. It was dense and midnight black.

Marjorine hesitated to answer. “Y-yeah, so? Bradley likes it. …I like it…”

“I never said you both had to sleep in the bed.” Wendyl winked. 

“Come on Wendyl… I’m serious.” Marjorine looked down at her feet.

“I am too. I simply can’t blame him for being comfy when you’re around.” He grinned when a blush and a faint smile crossed Marjorine’s face. “Anyway, this is definitely a cloak of the Ancients. It’s faint, but I can definitely see the flickers.”

“Flickers? Whatcha talking about Wendyl?”

“It’s the signature design of the Ancients, really. They felt the darkness of the night sky was the best representation of them. So they magically create their cloaks to have ‘stars’ embedded in them. Probably to scare people outside at night.”

“Wow… I never thought I could be-N-no, no. It’s just a cloak, ain’t it? I just got it as a gift after all. So… How’d you know about the design? You’ve seen ‘em before?”

“Ahah, no. The Ancients aren’t as stealthy as they make themselves out to be. I mean they put up flyers to announce their meetings after all, but there’s also plenty of reports of sightings. Consistencies, you know. You can take it back home with you.”

“Ooh, that’s nice.” She looked over the cloth. It looked so heavy with the shade of black, but the lights flickered just enough to stand out to her. She felt… full looking at them. She couldn’t think of what she was full of, she just felt whole all around. While looking at it, she glanced to Wendyl writing on something. She leaned over and noticed it was her scroll. She frowned at the line above the one Wendyl was writing.

“Wendyl, what’s that?” Marjorine pointed at the line. “Male genitals?”

“What?” He looked at the line blankly. “What do you mean? You have them.”

“I mean, I gotta wiener. Don’t know about male genitals though…”

“Oh no, male genitals is just the specific term for your, uh, wiener.”

“…Then why don’tcha just say wiener? Ain’t that specific?” She rubbed her knuckles together. “I… I just don’t feel like any part of me is male, Wendyl. I mean, I’m female, so I’ve got a female wiener right? Plenty of girls’ got a weiner, and plenty of guys’ got a… um… wow there’s not an innocent way to say vagina, is there?”

“No.” Wendyl shook his head. “No not really no.”

“Look, can you change it to a wiener?”

Wendyl looked between the paper and Marjorine. “I mean…” He glanced down to his chest. “We really shouldn’t… I shouldn’t-”

“Can you change what you think it is, Wendyl?”

Wendyl was sure he heard her wrong, but that reverberated alone in his head. He looked at his chest one more time. He picked up the pen. “I… I think I can.”

Marjorine watched as he wrote it out. Once Wendyl covered the old description a bright toothy grin came over Marjorine’s face. She couldn’t help but lean over and hug him. “Thank ya’ so much Wendyl. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He gave a wave as Marjorine finally exited the room, the cloak neatly stored under her arm. Wendyl sighed. He opened up his collar and looked at the binder underneath his shirt.

But now wasn’t the time for that. Like it or not, Crabtree was specific when she came here the day before her demise. The lights of a cloak were directly tied to the strength of one’s magical capabilities. And since Crabtree was dead, that would mean that Marjorine was tied to the cloak.

Now this wouldn’t bother Wendyl usually, but when Lord Thorn and Pip caught King Douchebag they didn’t even notice a flicker. Lord Thorn was positive it was a cloak of magical qualities of the ancients kind, but couldn’t see any light from it. King Douchebag could switch his entire bodies genetic structure twenty times walking down the street. But Marjorine’s lights were seeable by human eyes in a lit room.

He needed to report this immediately. Marjorine was Wendyl’s closest friend, but he’d have to let this known to Lord Thorn for her protection. His mind mentally went over all the information this night as he made his way to Damien’s guest bedroom. Once there he swung the door open. Nobody.

He must have already sleepwalked. Wendyl couldn’t see anybody else in the hallway, so he walked to Pip’s room. He opened the door quietly. He didn’t want to wake up Pip. He caught a glimpse of the inside and almost tripped as he staggered back. Something unimaginable, beyond comprehension was in that room right now.

Sitting on the bed in black pajamas was Lord Thorn with legs crisscrossed. Pip sat on his knees behind him, rubbing Damien’s shoulders and smiling.

“I’ve given them public plumbing, medicine, magic, hellfire’s sake most of them are financially stable enough to own furniture. What kind of peasants are known to have furniture!? But they would rather come in complain about a stone bridge across the creak. ‘Too Safe’ they said.” He rested his chin on his palm and tapped his cheek. “What does that even mean? Too safe? It was designed so no one can climb off. That’s why the sides are so tall. They dare bring such nonsense to me?”

“Oh, it must be their children Damien.” Pip said with his eyes closed, still smiling. “They do love to climb and walk on walls oh so much. I suppose the risk makes them so jolly, wouldn’t you say? Imagine how overjoyed they’d be if you changed it.”

Damien curled his fingers together. “Children, huh?” Yes, good. Prime prodigies for followers. Might as well start early. After all, the most unskilled will fall off anyway. Easy pickings. “Maybe I’ll reconsider the design.”

“Um, my lord? Is this a poor time for a report?” Wendyl said in the doorway.

Pip jumped back a little in surprise. “O-oh, Wendyl! Damien and I were just discussing news, he wasn’t-“

“Testaburger. I didn’t notice you come in. If it’s urgent I’ll meet you outside of the door, please.” Damien said calmly.

“Yes, my lord.” The door shut behind him.

Damien got off the bed. He looked back to the blond. “Go to sleep, Pip. I’ll be back shortly.” Checking for the nod of approval, he walked out.


	38. Ancient Awkwardness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for MRVHS from Tumblr for drawing Pip and Damien for me! I'll just leave it because, well, the only thing that really happened after that was Damien leaving the room to talk to Wendyl.
> 
>  

“So Marjorine is an ancient? That group may be a scattered pile of hollow shells, but they haven’t heard of an initiation test?” Damien’s arms were crossed, his eyebrows were furrowed, and his mouth was on the cusp of a sneer. The usual.

“Well, it seems that Crabtree was a bit of a loner in the group and may have simply distanced herself so far that she could willingly give away her magic without the others knowing, but yes. Marjorine has the official robe.” Wendyl knew better, but couldn’t help but keep glancing at the guest room door.

“Hmm…” Damien rubbed his temple. “If this is true, it might be in our best interest if she’s invited as a permanent worker for the castle.”

“Are you sure, my lord? I’ve known her for quite some time and only just found this out. She shouldn’t be in any real danger of the ancients finding out about her.”

“Debatable.” He rubbed the pointer and middle fingers on his right hand. “While that knife King Douchebag had was effective, it was certainly foolish to have that as his only weapon against the Antichrist. What was his description again?”

“A warrior notorious for shape shifting. Will do anything for anyone if they describe it as a ‘side quest’ with the promise of a reward, no matter how insignificant. Was found cutting someone’s lawn a year after being tasked with assassinating a king. Strong, skilled, and, most importantly, an idiot.” Wendyl mumbled silently to himself for a quick double check. “He also is quite the weapon’s enthusiast.”

“And yet, one weapon for me. It insults me, but I believe I may have been the target in a side quest. There is no reason for him to have been so unprepared, other than originally going for an easy target.” He pointed to Wendyl. “You checked that he used a form of magic to knock down the wall?”

“Yes, the professional fainted immediately from the smell.”

“Good. Request that Marjorine relocate her business to inside the courtyard across the restaurant. You will tell her tonight.”

“Would tonight really be preferred than tomorrow morning? She’s providing shelter for someone who she’s… just getting comfortable with in the romantic sense.”

“She has to be alerted of the risk. She can spare a minute for an official.”

“Understood.” He quickly turned around to leave.

“Stop, Wendyl.” Damien said sternly. “Before you leave, I must ask you something.”

Wendyl narrowed his eyes. “…Yes, my lord?” 

“Why are you still working for me?” He crossed his arms again.

“…Eh…Excuse me?” Wendyl glanced around. There wasn’t any more to the statement? “I…I’m obliged to work under you, correct? I signed the contract and-“

“The contract is void, is it not? It was under the assumption that no one from your hometown would or could follow you. Or in this scenario, have the physical ability to travel through the vast reaches of the universes, come to this plane of existence, and drop onto my doorstep. And much to my annoyance, they did.”

“I, uh…” Wendyl wiped his forehead. Damien was right. That one detail was enough to break it whole. And yet… “Either way I have a reputation here now. I just can’t up and leave, after all.”

“Of course you can. That’s the point of leaving. You mortals do it all the time.” Damien side glanced him. “YOU’VE done it before, haven’t you?”

Wendyl winced. He had done that before. “Then what was all that before? You said you had power all over, and I’d be hunt down if I went away?” He shook his head. “I know better than to run from someone as powerful as yourself, my lord.”

“Hmph.” Damien seemed unimpressed. “My word is full of deceit, misleading phrases, the kind of dishonorable things you’d expect.” He raised an eyebrow with a smirk. “It runs in the family. But unlike many I will stick to my word. So you are no longer obliged under me. Not that you’ll want to go anywhere here anyway.”

“Then, why did you tell me this if I won’t go anywhere?”

“No, you’ll want to go somewhere, and only there. It’s just not here, in this world. And the more you interact with him you’ll want to go back.”

Wendyl blinked. Back where Stan lives? “I-I may be reminiscent time to time, but I know this is where I belong now.”

Damien shrugged. “Perhaps.” Damien began to pace around him. “But you’re certainly afraid to visit.”

“And why would that be? What could scare me there?”

“Two things, Testaburger.” He scratched his chin. “You are afraid to return because you wouldn’t be accepted there now, or…. You’re afraid because you were never accepted there in the first place.”

Wendyl swallowed, but only felt his dry throat.

“Now go. I hope you know better than to not settle this issue straight. I’d advise you do it soon, too. Many people you used to know must wonder where Marsh has gone. In fact, it must be a miracle that the other one hasn’t returned yet.”

Wendyl stared into space for a moment. “…Yes. I will do that, my lord.”

Damien opened the door and gave Wendyl one last look. “And do inform Marsh that I’ve grown impatient on my room. There are only so many days the son of Satan can sleep next to a man in a guest bed.” He closed the door.

Wendyl hung his head. No matter what, he knew it had to come to an end. If Stan being around really did make him feel like that, it would probably be for the best. He couldn’t dare to even think of one of the faces from his-

The sound of a door quickly opening kicked Wendyl out of his thoughts and turned him around. Damien poked his head out of the room. “The part where I sleep with a man isn’t a part of the message. Don’t tell him that.”

Wendyl flinched as the door shut even faster than it was opened. He stood in the empty hallway in disbelief. Well, that killed the mood.


	39. Date Knight 2

“Gee, thanks again for tellin’ me all about that cloak, Wendyl. I would’ve never guessed it was a collector’s item!”

“Yes, well, we didn’t want such a skilled citizen to be unprepared against thieves and treasure hunters now.” Wendyl said as he opened the metal shutters to the shop in the courtyard.

“Aw, quit it, you're makin’ me blush.” Marjorine said as she levitated a heap of metal into the courtyard shop. “You fellas don’t need to give me and Bradley a room in the castle though. We’d really be fine out here.”

Wendyl chuckled. “Don’t worry, Lord Thorn insisted on you to be there. For your safety.” He saw Marjorine rub his knuckles nervously. He sighed. “…The architect prided themself on how soundproof the rooms are.”

Marjorine brightened up immediately. “Why didn’t ya say so? Bradley!”

The door on the side of the building opened slowly. “D-did I do something wrong Marjorine?” Bradley came out much like his tone, in a whimper.

Marjorine quickly walked over and hugged him. Bradley shuddered nervously. “Everything’s alright. We’re just about ready to get to work is all!” She smiled as she leaned back so they could see eye-to-eye, but leaned back in anyway to give him a peck on the lips. He started to blush.

Wendyl raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” He checked his scroll. “…Yes, I guess moving the rest of your clothes can wait until after you’re done today. Go ahead, Marjorine.”

Marjorine rubbed her hands together. “Alright, here I go!” Her tongue stuck out a little of her mouth. She motioned in front of the open shop.

The metal pile in the shop shuddered and shook. All at once, screws, nails, and other nuts and bolts started to float up off the pile. They formed into neat trails in the air. The trails hopped and bounced to the empty shelves of the store. Marjorine swished her hands horizontally. The wheel barrel they used to mostly carry the metal rolled neatly into the shop. Marjorine raised her hands to the sky. All the metal was on the shelves, plus all the other essentials needed for a blacksmith. She threw her arms down to the ground. A great force could be felt in the air as the sound of light metal shaking in an earthquake reverberated in the air.

The shutters in front came down and blocked the store. Marjorine neatly tacked on a ‘Sorry, we’re closed” sign onto them.

“Uh.” Wendyl hesitantly said. He had a blank look on his face Marjorine calmly snatched the scroll from his hand.

“Sweetie, you wouldn’t mind getting the clothes to our room, would you?” She gave Bradley another peck on the cheek.

“Y-yes, dear.” Bradley bit his thumb, trying to hold back his smile. His deeper blush gave it away, though.

“Marjorine I had other plans in that scroll.” He tried to walk past her, but found himself quickly blocked off from following Marjorine’s embarrassed boyfriend.

“Aw, don’t worry Wendyl. Bradley can handle the basics, can’t you Bradley?” She waved to the man in the distance. He waved back confidently. “In the meantime…” Marjorine turned Wendyl around and gave him a polite shove. “We can talk to Stan.”

“T-“ Wendyl staggered a bit before walking. “Talk to Stan? What for?”

Marjorine chuckled. “What? Didja forget already?” You said you were gonna have a ‘private conversation’ with ‘em, right? You told me last night.”

“Well, yes, yes I did. But… I don’t think today would work. He decided to work hard on Lord Thorn’s bedroom from now on. He was quite adamant when I told him after I talked to you. Perhaps… tomorrow. Or the next day. …The day after sounds-“

“Oh you won’t be bothering nobody if you tell him now, it’ll be over before you know it!” Marjorine put an arm around him to quicken their pace. “Heck, Bradley’ll probably only just be finishing the clothes by the time you’re done. Then you can do your work and everything’ll go back to normal!”

“I don’t really want everything going back to normal…” Wendyl mumbled to himself as they walked through the halls of the castle.

“You say something, Wendyl?”

“Uh, no. It must’ve been the hall. “Wendyl looked away from her.

“Ah, beef stew, I hope it isn’t angry or something.”

Wendyl let out a puff of air. Marjorine’s childlike naivety wasn’t helping. “But, really Marjorine, he should just be starting. We shouldn’t be interrupting.”

“Look Wendyl, I get what you’re saying. I do, but I know Stan. And there’s nothing he likes more than someone talkin’ with him while he’s working.”

“This isn’t your everyday chit-chat, Marjorine.” Wendyl was actively avoiding eye contact now. As much as he liked Marjorine, why did she have to be so confident in knowing more about Stan than him?

They both approached Damien’s bedchambers. Marjorine blinked, looked around, then put her ear against the door.

“Wow, you’re right Wendyl. I could barely hear that!”

A faint buzzing noise could be heard behind the door. It must have been Stan and his power tools. Before Wendyl could respond with another excuse to delay the inevitable, the buzzing stopped.

“Hey, perfect timing, right Wendyl?” Marjorine eagerly pushed Wendyl to the front door.

“He’s just on a small break that doesn’t mean-“ Wendyl groaned as Marjroine knocked own the door.

“Alright Wendyl, you can do this. You’re not running away now, are you?”

“That was one time, Marjorine.”

“Once is enough. Come on.” She motioned to follow her lead. “Come on. Chin up, elbows in, be straight-to-the-point.”

“Chin up, elbow-Wait what was that last-“

The door opened in front of them. Wendyl was horrified. Marjorine was ecstatic. Stan walked out without a second thought.

“Oh! Wendyl… and Marjorine? Uh, great timing I guess. I… I just finished.”


	40. Sorry

“…You what?”

“Well I-hold on.” Stan rubbed his eyes and yawned. “Augh, I-I finished, uh, Duh-Damien’s bedroom. Yeah.”

Wendyl looked curiously at Stan. He seemed to be in a haze of some sort. He wobbled around a bit in the doorframe.

“I, uh, stayed up all night making Damien’s stuff again?” He blinked groggily.

Wendyl walked past him and into the room. Sure enough, all the furniture smashed by McCormick had been replaced with brand new wooden furniture. Wendyl walked up to the bed, bent down, and rubbed a hand against the wooden frame.

“I, uh, hope the quality didn’t…get…worse…” He nodded off a little, but shook his head. “B-Because of my schedule.”

Wendyl moved his hand up the frame. It had a smooth, healthy oak brown sheen to it. “No, Stan. You did great. Like, VERY great. I’m actually really impressed you managed to… uh…”

Wendyl’s hand made it to the top of one of the bedposts. At the top was a model of a fish. The fish had big eyes and had big gleaming teeth, much like out of a cartoon.

“We might… have to sand out a detail or two, but hey, this is fantastic Stan! …Don’t do that again like this though, please.”

Stan chuckled. “Aw, I’m glad to hear it. Uh…” He rubbed his eyes again. “…So what were you going to tell me again?”

Wendyl froze, then turned around to look at him cautiously. “How do you know I was going to tell you something?”

Stan blinked. “…Oh, yeah. Marjorine was whispering in my ear the whole time you were turned around.”

Wendyl leaned over to see Marjorine exiting the room backwards. He saw her giving two thumbs up and an open smile before the door shut. Wendyl couldn’t help but shoot a grimace at her as she left.

Wendyl sighed. He looked down a little to make eye contact with Stan. The man’s consciousness was wavering. It made his eyes glazed over and unfocused. They were somewhat hard to follow.

Wendyl turned back to the smiling buck-teeth fish. He saw all the candles Stan used out of the corner of his eye.

He inhaled sharply. “Stan, you shouldn’t be here anymore.”

Stan furrowed his eyebrows, mouth open. He blinked away his confusion. “Oh, right. What am I supposed to fix next for you guys again?”

“No, Stan, you shouldn’t be fixing any of our things. You don’t get it. You don’t belong in this world. I mean you LITERALLY don’t! Neither of us can use magic, at least the kind here anyway. You have to have been born here for that to work at least. Anywhere else would probably be too stable.”

“I-wait. Too stable? Is there something wrong with this place?”

“No! I mean-well, yes but-“ He shook his hands in frustration. “-That’s not the point! Stan, you have a life back in South Park. You have family, friends, and from what I can tell-“ He gestured to the furniture. “Definitely enough skill in craftsmanship for a job.” Wendyl threw down his hands. He seemed to sulk a little. “Don’t throw them and run away like I did.”

Stan approached him. He put a hand on Wendyl’s shoulder. “Wait, wait Wendyl…” He became a little hazy, but scrunched his face to try to become fully awake. “You didn’t run away, you just… got lost, is all. If you just come back I’m sure that-”

Wendyl knocked his hand away in sudden anger. “I wrote a suicide note!” Wendyl grasped half his face. Tears started to leak out his eyes. “Goddammit! I’m not lost to them, I’m dead! Why do you think I deserve to see them again!? Why should I ever be allowed to be with the actual people I grew up with after what I did!?” His fingers became tangled in his hair, knocking his hat off. “I don’t deserve that! I’ll never deserve that!” Wendyl started gasping for breath. A couple tears fell off his chin. He let out deep breaths. “Why… Why do you care about me Stan?”

“Well…” Stan let out a puff of air. “Because… Because I love you, Wendyl.”

“…You love me.” Wendyl said flatly. He staggered to the bed posts and leaned on one of them. “You love me…” He slid down, landing in a heap on the ground. “Stan. You know… there was time where I thought-no, I hoped in the pit of my stomach that you weren’t just my boyfriend, really. That, maybe, whenever you said you loved me you actually meant it… Is that supposed to be real now?”

Stan frowned. He bent down and nodded. “I’m sorry. I-I should have said that differently.” He scratched the back of his neck. “I just-I really felt like I’ve finally been acting naturally around you. And it’s so nice to be around you and… I should’ve clarified. I’m not looking for that kind of relationship with you, I’m not. I’d be lying if I said I was, it’d be fake. You don’t deserve a fake relationship.” He rubbed his eyes, drowsiness creeping on him. “…I couldn’t have another fake romance like that…”  
Wendyl chuckled hoarsely. “Why not? That’s what we did the first time, right?”

Stan blinked. “…Oh no I wasn’t talking about what we were-I mean-yes-I guess it wasn’t real, like that, but-not like, in the way that, you know, when I did it with-no! I mean-er-when you, uh, when you…” Stan clenched his teeth and balled his hand into fists in an attempt to straighten out his rambling. A heavy blush came on him as he finally blurted out. “When you go into something knowing it’s fake but it turns out to be real!” He quickly breathed in and out.  
Wendyl could only stare at Stan with narrowed eyes and furrowed eyebrows. A single thought reverberated in his head. “…The hell was that?”

“I-I’m sorry Wendyl, just-just look.” He reached into his shirt and slowly pulled something out. He put it into Wendyl’s hand and looked away.

Wendyl examined the object closely. It was… a wallet. He must have had it before he stumbled out of Earth. Wendyl raised an eyebrow curiously. How was this supposed to explain Stan’s sleep deprived nonsense he called human speech? And why was he so hesitant to show it?”

He opened it slowly. He was a tad nervous, actually. But inside was what one would usually expect in a wallet. Some cash, a couple gift cards, Stan’s license (Wendyl confirmed that Stan was 5”8’), but on one side a strap held back a stack of something just waiting to burst out of the wallet. He winced as he undid it. It spilt out and neatly unfolded. A series of pictures. Nothing special, right? Pictures of his family, friends, his car, etc. He frowned as, while looking up the series of images, he saw a young girl in a pink beret smiling next to a young Stan. Nothing seemed to really explain Stan’s ramblings, though.

Then he saw the top picture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fact: Damien did NOT tell Wendyl that everyone in this world looked like the people from South Park.


	41. The Long One

Kyle Broflovski was, for the longest time, Stan’s childhood best friend. There were multiple stretches of time where Wendyl, much to his dismay, couldn’t imagine Stan without Kyle at least making an appearance.

Thinking it through, Wendyl found that he couldn’t blame Stan for caring more for the red-haired boy than his girlfriend. Getting a girlfriend and doing little to nothing with her wasn’t a recommendation, it was the primary option forced into young boys’ developing little heads.

Kyle, for all intents and purposes, did act similarly to Wendyl though. At least before Wendyl’s speech abilities degraded, that is. He seemed to have a shorter temper though, as he usually jumped the gun and went on to accusations. While it was understandable and rarely happened, he sometimes accused those who actually in the right. Unfortunately, like young Stan, he was also kind of self-centered, meaning that if he did make false accusations it would be quite the task to get him to admit he was in the wrong. It could be certainly annoying when it happened, but at the same time if he didn’t have that thick skin everybody would have to deal with Eric.

Day in and day out, at any chance they could you’d find Kyle and Eric Cartman arguing about something. Interestingly enough Kyle never actually falsely accused Eric of anything. And the reason why is because Cartman was always guaranteed to be in the wrong. Even if Kyle managed to be in the wrong in a way he wouldn’t be, if the phrasing makes sense, more wrong than Cartman. But like a double edged sword it also meant one other thing: nobody cared.

Everybody knew Cartman was in the wrong. And everybody knew that, while handling it aggressively and possibly in the wrong direction, Kyle was easily the correct moral compass of the two. That was it. All people had to do was listen a minute and leave. Cartman would spout out blatant lies or skewed words of some event, and Kyle would try to correct his thinking. And it would never. Work. Ever.

A classic case of an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. Except in this case Cartman was like a black hole. Because Cartman was a massive asshole.

But then raised the problem. After Cartman’s death, what was Kyle to do then? Certainly no one could keep him occupied on arguments like Cartman. After all, half the reason he argued was because Cartman would want to act on his impulses.

It seemed like Kyle could finally relax. So, he got a job at a fast food restaurant. And, much to nobody’s surprise, spent all his breaks with his best friend Stan.

But, alas, all great things must come to an end. And Wendyl could just tell, based on the picture, that the years had significantly changed the relationship between Stan and Kyle.

At least, the picture of them kissing on the beach at sunset at least implied a change.

Wendyl could only stare blankly at the picture.

After a passing silence Stan bent down to talk to him. “I’m sorry I…I should have told you earlier, really. I know you’re surprised that we’re boyfriends now but-“

“That?” Wendyl suddenly jumped out of his daze. “That’s not surprising Stan.”

Stan blinked. He felt like the one member of the family who hadn’t known about their separated identical twin kept in the attic, only to see them calmly join for breakfast one day. “…It’s gotta be a little surprising.”

“Not in the slightest.” Wendyl said flatly.

Stan blinked. “…Really. Are you sure-?”

“Stan did you pretend to date Kyle without him knowing?”

Stan backed up defensively. “Oh no-no he knew. We knew. But we just-we didn’t think that-that he and I would-“

“Just.” Wendyl silenced Stan with his palm like that one politician you want to do it to. You know the one. “Start from the beginning. …Please.”

“Y-yeah, right.” Stan collected himself. “I guess it started when you, you know you-“ Stan coughed into his hand. “It felt everything was just, so real all of the sudden. I mean, I guess it was familiar though…” He sighed. “I started drinking again.”

Wendyl sharply inhaled and held his breath, then exhaled.

Stan noticed his discomfort. “I-It’s funny, really. Like the last time it happened Kyle said he was going to give up on me because I wasn’t getting better. He came back to hang out with me the next week. He kept doing that for a month or two I think. But one time he said he was sorry for all those times and said he wouldn’t do it again.”

Wendyl chuckled hoarsely. “Wish I could’ve had a friend like that.”

Stan frowned. “Well, maybe-“ He stopped himself and swallowed. “The point is: He treated me differently, yeah, but I think it was because he came to grips that I wasn’t well. I kind of got better.” He shrugged. “Just, him being there and caring about me. It was nice.  
Kyle would always try to invite me to a place we could have fun at…”

Wendyl grinned faintly. “Well, he knew you best after all.”

Stan blew out a puff of air. “So… I don’t know just one day we were just lying around on my couch, watching TV and this sappy movie came on. I think-“ 

“They still use those?” Wendyl pretended to be surprised.

“Don’t go calling me a grandpa, Mr. I-live-in-medieval-times.“ He ruffled his hair a bit. “Ugh, anyway. I think it got to his head, because he wanted to keep watching. He thought it was funny. What did he say again?” He scratched his chin. “Something like ‘Dude, this is so bad. WE could be more convincing than that. …Hey Stan, I just thought of something.”

Wendyl let out a faint giggle. “Really Stan?”

Stan raised his arms. “I don’t know! We just-We thought it was funny!” Stan heard a couple more stifled giggles come from a facing away Wendyl. “We just kept doing it and-and we were just flirting with each other day-to-day and-“ He dropped his arms his arms in exasperation. “…We didn’t really think we went too far sometimes.”

Wendyl took the picture out. “Was this one of them? Hm, I didn’t expect Kyle to have such a growth spurt, he looks taller than me.”

“Yeah, at 6”5’ he won’t stop making me get on my toes to kiss him…” Stan puffed his cheeks a little. “That, uh, was the day same-sex marriage was legal in Colorado. We pretended to go fishing.”

“Never thought I’d see the day…” Wendyl smiled numbly. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“I was afraid you’d think you were just replaced…”

Wendyl put the picture back in the wallet. “It’s not really a replacement if you’re going from a girl to a boy though.”

Stan furrowed his eyebrows. He leaned in and sternly put his hands on Wendyl’s shoulders.

“Stan?” Wendyl said curiously.

“Wendyl. I know you’re not well. And I know you’re not going to get better soon. To be honest there’s a chance that might never fully go away.” He put his hands on Wendyl’s upper arms. “But this isn’t about making my ex-boyfriend happy. It’s about helping YOU be happier.” He let go and leaned back. “You’re right that I have a life to go back to. I have a someone who loves me, my family, a job, and friends… And I want to be there for one of them now. Like how Kyle did it! Besides the romance- you know.” His hands waved the thought away. “What I’m saying is you’re worth my time, Wendyl. Because you deserve to get that time.”

Wendyl bit his index finger. “You really, honest to God care about me Stan?”

“Yes! I do!” He leaned in and put their hands together. “I really, really do!”

Wendyl pulled back, crossed his arm across his stomach, and covered his eyes with his other hand. “I can’t believe it.” He gave a light frown, then grunted as he got up.

Stan followed. “Y-you can’t?”

Wendyl held himself nervously. He then motioned outward. “C-Can we?”

Stan stared blankly. “…Oh! O-Of course, yeah.” He stepped forward and hugged him.

Wendyl leaned into the hug. He sighed. “I… I guess I do feel a little better.”

Stan nodded, well as best as he could leaning up to Wendyl’s shoulder. “That’s good.”

“But…I’m afraid to go back, Stan. I don’t think I can do it.” Wendyl noticed Stan’s hug become a little tighter. “That might be okay though. I just, I haven’t felt like this in a long time. And I’m glad that you were the one who did it.”

“Oh, th-thanks.” Stan took the compliment hesitantly. There was a bit of unease in his stomach.

“The fact that you did that for me, went out of your way like that… In a way I couldn’t thank you enough. Really I’d love to go back with you.”

“It’s okay if you can’t go now.” Stan swallowed. The unease seemed to be growing.

“I never can forget the times we were together, I can’t. But, now I think that’s good.” He leaned back and put his hands on Stan’s shoulders.

“What?” That distracted Stan from the unease.

“It’s just, you’ve grown up Stan. I’m really impressed.” Wendyl gave a small grin. “All those times before feel kind of pleasant now that you’re like this. And everything feels a little lighter now.”

“I mean, I still wasn’t really good back then, right?” He felt a little dizzy.

“No, but… Because you just, you went above that means something. And the fact you did it just for me. The fact that you’re so dead set on going out of your way to be nice and understanding for others, and me, it makes me feel better. Kind of… happ-“

“Huurgh!”

Wendyl froze, wide eyed. Stan did the same, but after a second or two covered his mouth and began to glow scarlet from his face in shock. Wendyl slowly looked to his shoulder. It was covered in vomit. He looked behind him. Stan projectile vomited onto his shoulder and onto the bed. He shuddered and turned away.

“O-Oh my God! W-wait, no!” Stan was panicking. He always vomited when he was younger when he was around… someone he had a crush on. He pulled on his face as he saw Wendyl slide down the bed again and cover his mouth. “I didn’t-! I mean I never was pretending! I-I-Oh my God, oh Jesus I-! I’m sorry I’m sorry please don’t- P-…P-please don’t… u-uh…?”

Stan got quiet as Wendyl’s body let out hiccups and other noises leaning against the bed. The body shuddered to go along with the noises.

Wendyl was laughing.


	42. *Insert Hitchhiker’s Guide Reference Here*

Stan tried to approach the figure lurched against the front of the bed. He wheezed and stuttered incomprehensibly as his laughter drained all the breath from his body, which, by the by, was dangerously close to pasty path of Stan’s projectile vomit. At least, that’s what Stan thought as his wide eyes looked to Wendyl.

“Y-You’re not mad at me?”

“Madatchyou-!?” Wendyl burst out in a loud squeak. The sounds of his hiccupping body, the reddening of his face, and the tears streaming down his cheeks made him look drunk from a late night’s fill. Yet Stan couldn’t help but feel terrified wondering what Wendyl was really drunk with, though.

Wendyl’s face rubbed against the stone floor carelessly to the tune of his erupting giggles. It was almost painful to look at, really. But, still shaking like a stray dog out in the snow, he slid his arm under his chest and began to pick himself up.

Stan winced as Wendyl stopped only far enough to get his waist-up off the ground, having to quickly put one hand over his mouth to smother another outburst of laughter. Wendyl must have taken another look at the vomit as he lifted himself up. Stan didn’t know what to do. The person he was just trying to relax was in a heap on the ground, and he couldn’t help but feel responsible for it.

He let out a stutter, “I-I-“, but inhaled, straightened his posture, and tried again. “I’m sorry. I completely messed up. You shouldn’t have to deal with me sending you mixed messages like this, it’s wrong and-“

“Stan!” Wendyl’s hand quickly shot out, silencing the man. “S-Stan, *wheeze*, wha-wait!” His hand slapped against the ground. He slapped the ground a couple more times, switching to a fist halfway through. “Y-you-!” He almost choked on his words.

Stan got pale at what was coming. He gulped and let out a stutter again. “I-I…I?”

“You…” Both Wendyl’s hands pressed against the floor as he kept himself up. He finally took a couple deep breaths to calm himself down. “You actively avoided trying to do anything romantic with me…” A little shudder went through his body. “But the minute!” He pounded his fist once more against the ground. “The minute you told me-!?” He finally raised his head to look Stan in the face. He could hear Wendyl choking on his giggles. Stan saw the tears streaming down Wendyl’s red face and passed his…big glowing grin? “Of all times you accidently got a crush on me again!?”

Stan looked like he was about to whimper in defeat. “I… I guess I did, yeah.”

A silence fell over the room. Both stared at each other, as neither really knew what to say at that. Wendyl’s breathing got heavier and less wheezy. His mouth slowly drooped down from grinning to a small open mouth. Both of the men’s expressions seemed to blanken. That is to say until Wendyl bit his lip and let out a loud “PFF”

Stan couldn’t believe it. Wendyl collapsed into yet another fit of giggles. Wendyl stuttered out some more. “T-that’s the funniest thing…*pPFFT* I’ve ever heard!”

Stan blinked. “Th-the funniest-?” A slight blush crept on Stan’s face. He crossed his arms and tried to look away seriously. “I-It’s not that funny.”

Stan’s statement only made Wendyl laugh harder. He got on his side and leaned back to face Stan. He pointed and let out an uncontrollable “BwAH-HA-HA-HA” in a happy bliss kind of way. “Y-you’re defending yourse-!?” His speech got cut off by another flurry of chuckles. “Stan, stop! *wheeze* …You’re killing me!”

Stan took a step back. Sudden concern flashed across his face. “O-oh Jesus! Am I!?”

Wendyl lurched back, in full guffaw now. “Now you-! *snort* you honestly think I’m dying from-!” He bonked his head against the side of the bed. “Oop! Pfft-hahaha!”

“Come on Wendyl, I-I care about you! You know that!” He lifted his arms from his sides to emphasize what he was saying.

“I know, I know!” He leaned backwards on his elbows. “It’s just-It’s too funny!”

Stan’s arms dropped limply to his sides. He got a little pale. Wendyl was still laughing. His lip frowned and he balled his hands into fists.

“Why is me caring about you such a joke to you!?”

Wendyl froze. He raised his head up in surprise. Suddenly he didn’t feel like laughing. “Wh-what?”

Stan sighed and looked down. “It’s just, I thought you were really gone for good.” He lightly kicked the floor in frustration. “…And to find out that you’re here and…” His eyes watered a little. “…And that maybe I could just, you know, help you be happy again. Because I remembered when we were younger and you were happy! Well… happier, I guess. I didn’t mean to fall for you like that again, but do you think I can’t really care about you if I have a crush on you?” I just… want to be there for you Wendyl. Do you think I can’t?”

Wendyl blinked. “Stan, I…” He slowly raised himself up, looking for the right words. “I don’t think you caring about me is a joke I…” He rubbed the back of his neck, he felt his dampened shoulder as he did. “I just thought it was funny that you vomited like when we were kids and it was cute and… I don’t know.”

Wendyl saw the unease still in Stan’s face. “I love it that you’re here for me, really…” Wendyl sighed. He wiped as much as the tears off his face that he could with a frown. He took a couple steps closer to him. “But I, uh, took that too far, sorry.” He patted Stan on the shoulder. “It’s been too long since the last time I laughed.”

Stan closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Ugh… Oh God. I don’t know what to think anymore… I can’t believe I got a crush on you again… What’ll Kyle say?” His eyes opened suddenly. “Oh God! What if I don’t love Kyle anymore!?”

Wendyl put his hands on Stan’s shoulders to calm him down. “Hey, Stan, look. I still consider us friends. In fact, after what we just did I think of us as great friends. …Maybe not good communicators but we honestly care about each other. And Stan, listen, you’re sleep deprived, I yelled at you and laughed at you, you made several elaborate pieces of high-quality furniture, you just vomited, and you got another crush on your old lover that you thought died. You need a break, because you’re probably not thinking straight. You want to help me through my problems, so now I’m going to help you through yours, alright?”

Stan let out a puff of air. “I guess so. But how are you going to do that?”

Wendyl patted Stan’s shoulder again. “By getting you to bed. You need sleep badly.”

Both of them turned their heads to the bed. Wendyl looked at the trail of vomit splattered across it. “…But not that one.” He let out a smile.

Stan smiled back. He started to blush again, much to his embarrassment. “Thanks, Wendyl.”

Wendyl walked over to the door. “Don’t mention it. I want to make absolutely sure-“ He opened the door, his eyes were closed so he didn’t notice Stan’s shift to a look of horror. “-that nothing else stresses you today.”

“Well, Marsh. It appears that you finished my furniture.” Wendyl froze, wide-eyed, then turned around in a snap. He saw a disgruntled Damien in the doorway and a flustered Marjorine leaning against the wall on the other side of the hallway.

“…And you decorated it with vomit.”

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, this is my first fic here! I hope you guys enjoy it!


End file.
